The Stranger At The Door SamDean NC17
by LadyCrystalCastalia
Summary: He's back. Many things have changed, but the most important hasn't. He wants his brother by his side, and after a hundred forty years and five months without him, he will stop at nothing to get him back. They will let him go ...see chap 1 for full summary
1. Chapter I P1 Smile For Me, Brother ALMG

**Pairing :** Sam/Dean

**Rating : **NC-17

**Spoilers:** seasons 5 & 6

**Other characters****:** Lisa at the beginning. Meg, Bobby and Castiel make an appearance.

**Genre: **Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Schmoop, First time

**Warnings & ****Kinks:** Hurt!Sam, Powers!Sam, Stalker!Sam, Jealous!Sam, Bottom!Sammy & Use of endearments.

**Disclaimer :** Not mine.

**Author's note:** _Mille mercis_ to the lovely **genevieve-1 **for the beta work! Huge thanks to the amazing **smut_slut **for the banner!

**Summary:** He's back. Many things have changed, but the most important hasn't. He wants his brother by his side, and after a hundred forty years and five months without him, he will stop at nothing to get him back. They will let him go without a fight if they know what's good for them; because a suburban mom and her teenage son do not have a prayer against the former host of Satan himself.

**CHAPTER I: SMILE FOR ME, BROTHER**

**PART I: A LITTLE MORE GUSTO**

He looked tired. He hadn't smiled since he had sat at the table. He was eating slowly.

"_A little more gusto!"_

He smiled sadly as he remembered his brother's words. He used to eat with gusto; happy glutton stuffing his face with bacon cheeseburgers, candy bars, banana splits, and pie.

It had been close to a year in earth time. Had he been like this since his death? He was supposed to be happy; with her; with them! Only, he had yet to see him give a hint of a smile, a real one; not this forced grin that barely made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"Why aren't you happy, Dean?"

When he was falling into that hole at Stull Cemetery, his last thought was that his brother was finally going to enjoy the apple pie life; a nice house in a quiet neighborhood, a safe, boring job, barbeques with the neighbors, a kid who looked up to him, and a loving woman to share it all with. That's why he had sent him to Lisa and had made him promise he would stay there.

"I need you to be happy…"

The rain was coming down heavily. He did nothing to cover himself. He was used to standing outside in the cold, his hair beaten by the wind while water seeped into his clothes.

He took one step back, then another. Every night, he played this sad little game with himself. He was afraid that, if he left too soon or even turned his head, he would miss it; but so far, he had never come close to winning his prize.

"Smile for me." _Please Dean. So I can let you go; so I can stop coming here._

Like all the other nights, his brother didn't hear him. It had been two months.

_Tomorrow._

Raindrops streamed down his face as he walked away from the Braeden-Winchester household. He wished they were tears. He hadn't cried in a hundred forty years and five months. He had lost that ability in the pit, when Lucifer had taken back control of his body.

After years of enduring relentless mental and physical torture without ever being allowed to shout, cry, or utter a single word, he felt like a rabid dog unable to bark. But he was able to bite, and he possessed the power to tear into flesh with just one thought. If people knew how dangerous he was, they would change sidewalks to avoid bumping into him.

The only person he could never hurt was Dean, because, in spite of the decades the Beast of Evil had spent gnawing at every bit of humanity he had, it had failed to make a dent in the love Sam felt for his older brother.

_Part II – For The Drive And The Pizza_


	2. Chapter I P2Smile For Me, Brother FTDATP

**PART II: FOR THE DRIVE AND THE PIZZA**

Sam entered the small dilapidated house he was squatting in. He sat on the floor in his rain-soaked clothes, bent his knees and rested his tense back against the paint-chipped front door. In exactly two days, it would be five months since he had returned to earth. He felt almost as lost as the day he had woken up; battered, bruised, weak as a newborn, and tired as an old man laying on his deathbed in a hospital in Lawrence, Kansas.

Back then, he didn't even remember his name. All he knew was that he had a hole in his heart and that his dreams were haunted by the memory of a man kneeling in the dust whose face he couldn't see.

The nurses had told him that he had been brought in by an emaciated-looking man wearing a cane and black coat. Two suited men from the mysterious rescuer's entourage had carried him unconscious into the hospital and the Good Samaritan had left two letters and a generous amount of money to cover his medical expenses before disappearing into his car, never being heard from again.

The hospital had kept him for a month and a half, slowly rebuilding his wasted body and ruined health. On the day of his release, they had given him the two envelopes. The first one was addressed to D.W. In it he had found a couple of bills and a card that read,_ For the ride and the pizza_, with the name of a restaurant in Chicago. The second was addressed to S.W. and the message it contained was even more cryptic than the first one: _Pity it took so long to pull you out of his grip. Small consolation; my soldiers will keep out of your way and gently escort you back home on the day you decide to return to your heaven together. _

He had been out on his own for less than a day when he had started feeling sick. He had blamed the constant heat, dehydration, and nausea on the withdrawal from all the drugs the doctors had fed him, and hoped the symptoms would disappear on their own. To his growing alarm, the craving, the unquenchable thirst only got worse; and after downing a bottle of water, two cans of coke, and a fifth of cheap whiskey in the space of a few hours, he had found himself outside in the night, shaking, hearing strange noises, and convinced he was losing his mind.

His body had suddenly propelled him forward, drawing him closer to the heart beating loudly in his ears, until he was tackling an unsuspecting passer-by into a dark alley, and shoving him with such savage force he heard his skull crack against the wall. Before he knew what was happening, he was kneeling over the exsanguinated body of the man he had bled dry, only feet away from the few people walking up and down the street.

Fighting the bile that was rising in his throat, he had looked into the lifeless eyes staring back at him as memories of his past came crashing into his head; who he was, the things he had done, who had brought him back, and most importantly, where the emptiness in his heart came from… the man kneeling in the dust raised his head.

"Dean."

_Part III – Cursed Lamb_


	3. Chapter I P3 Smile For Me, Brother P3 CL

**PART III: CURSED LAMB**

After hiding the body behind a dumpster, he had gone back to the motel to gather his meager belongings. The sight of his blood-stained face had dissuaded him to go after his brother. He was desperate to be with him again, but he couldn't let Dean see him in this state again. Even if he tried to hide it, Dean would recognize the signs, and the joy illuminating his face would turn into the sad, resigned expression he wore every time he found out Sam had fallen off the wagon.

He had left town immediately and driven all night to put some distance between him and the body poorly hidden in an alley. In the early hours of the morning, he had ditched the stolen car to cover his tracks, ransacked a corner store for food and basic hunting supplies, and walked until he had found an abandoned dump to hole up in.

There, he had laid salt lines at the doors and windows, and locked himself down for two excruciating weeks. That self-imposed rehab had been the hardest. There was no one on the other side of his door, worrying about him, ready to race to his rescue when the demon blood started throwing him against the walls. He had fought alone, clinging to the four-letter name that symbolized all the reasons he wanted to live, and he repeated it like a prayer every time the pain sawed away at his bones.

When he had finally gotten the bloodlust out of his system, he had left his hideout with plans to head straight to Cicero, Indiana. Perhaps it was the excitement, or rather the fact that his reflexes were eroded after the severe detox he had undergone, but his attempt at auto theft had almost turned into a bloodbath.

The owner of the car had drawn a gun on him and, while Sam was trying to wrestle it away, a shot had been fired. Out of the blue, a cloud of black smoke had swooped down, shaped itself into human form, and clawed at the man's arms until he let go of the weapon, shrieking in pain.

The switches, that a deceptively sweet bride-to-be from Peoria had once mentioned, had flipped in Sam's brain. Guided by his instinct, he had raised one hand to send the demon back, and closed a fist to paralyze the man's vocal cords. In a whirlwind of confusion, he had fled the scene and sought refuge in the rundown shack he called home.

The walls and furniture had started shaking and breaking the second he had entered the house. Just as he realized he was somehow responsible for the few windows that had inexplicably shattered in his wake, as he raced through the streets, a chunk of plaster had detached itself from the ceiling right above his head. He had found himself safely standing on the other side of the room a split second before it dropped to the floor and had crouched in a corner, his arms above his head, trying to calm down so things would go back to normal.

Hours later, lying prostrate in the middle of the quiet ruins, he had screamed at what he felt like another cruel test of destiny. Wasn't it enough that he had immolated himself on the four-ring altar and dived into the coldest recesses of Hell in order to pay his debt to humanity?

After all the sacrifices he had made to earn his redemption, he had turned into a bigger freak than before. A whole new specimen, born from the combination of Azazel's blood, the gallons more he had to ingest to house the Devil, and the residues of Lucifer's angelic grace. He was afraid of himself, alone, but too radioactive to go anywhere near the only person he needed to see.

That new bump in his road had forced him to postpone his trip to Indiana for a second time, and he had spent an endless month exercising his new muscles to take control of his powers and learn how to manage his abilities.

He could control demons. Not just pin them down, exorcize, and kill them like he used to, but also locate them with his mind, summon them, force them to possess a host, and pull their strings like a puppet master before disposing of them when he was done using them. It was his greatest power; the one that took the most out of him, but also the most dangerous, as it was to him what owning a vineyard would be to an alcoholic.

He had the ability to teleport himself from one place to another, not long distance like an angel or a full-blood demon could, but from one room to the next, easily, and a few miles at a time with a little concentration. He could also paralyze people and render them mute temporarily. He made a conscious effort not to abuse those particular talents, because the experience was rather frightening to those who were subjected to them, but he had used them enough times to shoplift items he couldn't afford in broad daylight to know they worked perfectly and with very little effort.

Three longs months after his painful return to human life, he had parked his car in front of Lisa's house and skipped to her door with barely contained excitement. He was about to ring the bell when he heard the sound of joyous laughter through the walls. He had peeked through the living room window and the reality of his brother's new life had hit him like an ice pick through the heart.

All this time, all he had thought about was Dean; _his_ Dean,his brother, the missing piece of his heart. It had never occurred to him that Dean now belonged to others.

The unexpected blow had crushed his last hopes and, instead of making his presence known, he had looked on hungrily; a lonely outsider staring at a happy, _normal_ family that had no use for dark and twisted things like him. Ben in stitches, watching Dean drawing something comical on the back of his notebook, and a beaming Lisa lovingly rubbing his brother's back as she sat next to him to join in the fun. He had contemplated the scene, drinking in the sight of his brother's face before turning away, aching with jealousy when she had pressed her lips to Dean's cheek.

He had come back every night, and often followed Dean during the day, watching with melancholy his brother do familiar things and a few new ones: earn a honest living as a mechanic, have a beer with the next-door neighbor every Thursday night, play coach and soccer Dad on week-ends, and dodge waitresses' thinly veiled advances countless times, the way any self-respecting, emotionally invested boyfriend would.

He had seen the love in the Braedens' eyes whenever they looked at Dean. They were good people who cared deeply about his brother; the kind of people who didn't have a devil on each shoulder and wouldn't spill darkness back into Dean's life like a damaged ink bottle.

The realization that his brother was probably better off without him had made him long for the coppery taste of devil spawns' blood again, but before he made his way out of a life that had nothing left to offer him, he needed one last thing; to see his brother laugh the way Lisa and Ben had. He'd even settle for an earnest smile; but he wouldn't leave until he had proof that Dean was truly happy.

_**Chapter II – One Year, Forever And A Day**_


	4. Chapter II One Year, Forever And A Day

**CHAPTER II: ONE YEAR, FOREVER AND A DAY**

**Summary:** Sam wins his prize and then some.

He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him, following him. Only every time he looked, there was no one. Maybe he missed him so much he imagined he was haunted. Or perhaps he was slowly going insane with grief? He could swear he had seen a tall silhouette vanish on the other side of the street the night before when he was coming out of the bar with Sid.

He slid out from under the car and sat up, leaning against the wall. He quietly stared at the grey sedan he was working on and flashbacked to the time when he thought he was under fake Little Bastard's skirt. _"Need a flashlight?" _His lips moved around the name he could barely stand to say aloud anymore. _Sam._ If he never said it out loud, he didn't have to be reminded of why no one answered.

He stared at the car with morbid fascination. He was so worried that Not Little Bastard would fall on top of him and crush him to death. Freak accidents happened so fast… And then, lights out.

He rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes and sighed. He was so tired. Tired of this pain that wouldn't give him a second's rest, of this pointless exercise that was life without…

His phone rang. The voice at the other end pulled him out of the darkness that tried to swallow him every time he had a moment's silence, a moment to think, to remember.

"How ya doing kid?"

"Bobby…" He couldn't say more, but he didn't need to.

"That bad, huh?"

"I must be going crazy. It's like he's everywhere. I can feel him. My head tells me I'm imagining things, but I know… Bobby, he didn't have a proper burial. What if…"

"He's a spirit? I doubt that," Bobby assured him, lying to the boy he loved like his own, since he had no idea whether Sam was still alive, screaming in the Devil's body, or if he was actually dead and potentially restless. "Your brother said his goodbyes. He was ready for what was coming. There's no unfinished business that would keep him around. What you're feeling is normal. I get that way every year when the day Karen died rolls around. It's because of tomorrow."

"Yeah, must be," Dean replied, unconvinced.

"You have something planned?"

"I told Lisa I needed the night off, to be by myself."

She hadn't asked questions, knowing how painful that day was. For the anniversary of Sam's death, he was going to take the Impala for a ride for the first time in months, sit on her hood, and drink by himself, looking at the stars, wishing Sammy was up there, but knowing full well he wasn't.

* * *

Sam listened to the noises coming from the garage, the side of his face pressed against the wall. He knitted his brow, thinking about the conversation his brother had had, with a seemingly resurrected Bobby, hours earlier._ "I can feel him," _he had said. A part of Sam rejoiced at that revelation. The fact that Dean knewhe was around, even if he mistook him for a ghost, proved how strong their bond still was.

But another part of him worried that their connection was the reason Dean looked so unhappy. Sam had been stalking him for two months, swearing he would leave the minute he would see a genuine smile on his face, but now, he had to face the possibility that his presence was the actual reason for Dean's sadness. His hand slid over the rough wood and he closed his eyes. He knew he should stop, but he couldn't. He wasn't ready to let go. _Just… just a few more days, _he bargained with himself, the thought of leaving Dean forever too painful to bear.

"Sammy."

He let out a small gasp when he heard Dean's voice. He hadn't planned for this, to be discovered while he was hiding in the shadows like a thief; but nothing happened. The noises told him that his brother was still inside the garage. There was no one behind him and it was so dark outside, he was pretty sure no one had seen him. He risked a glance through the doorway and his heart stopped. Dean was sitting in the passenger side of the Impala, weeping. It took everything in Sam not to rush in and grab him in his arms. He stood still, crying with his brother, although no tears came out of his eyes, red-hot daggers slashing through his guts with every sob, every whimper, and choked gasp.

"I know I promised, but I can't do this. Sammy... I should have gone with you."

It was like a blast of light exploding in the dark and murky well of misery that had been his life in the last months; and it was so blinding and so overwhelming that he lost complete control of himself for a moment. The wall he was leaning against started rattling and he quickly crossed his arms and pressed his hands into his chest, pushing the power down where it was better contained. The rattling stopped immediately.

Dean yelled, "Who's there?"

Sam teleported himself away when he heard the door of the Impala slam shut. Dean came running out of the garage but, before he could start investigating, a voice called from inside the house. He looked around, then he wiped his face and cleared his throat, his voice still hoarse when he answered, "Coming, Lisa."

His heart racing, Sam poked his head and watched his brother walk into his home. _Not for long,_ he thought darkly. He appeared near the window and stared at the woman who was talking to Dean. He wondered if she had noticed that his brother's usually bright green eyes were red and shiny. If she only knew that nothing she had to give could make Dean truly happy, because what Dean really wanted, _needed,_ was Sam.

He shivered. It was not because of the cold ―he didn't feel the cold anymore― but because of the shock of electricity that went through his body. He wrapped his arms around himself, practically twitching with impatience.

His brother wanted him back.

It wasn't the revelation he had been waiting for, while he blended into the corners to study every line of Dean's face in search of a smile, but his greedy, possessive heart exulted at Dean's sorrow. He had wanted Dean to be happy without him, but he was glad that Dean refused to be, or simply was unable to.

Every lonely, miserable minute of every lonely, miserable day, he had wondered if his brother would even want him back. He had watched from afar, devoured by jealousy at the sight of these strangers who had replaced him, but he had stepped back, because he thought Dean deserved this cushy little life, with a beautiful girl who had waited for him, and a kid who looked at him as if Dean walked on water; a loving family that had never betrayed him.

After everything that had happened between them in the last years, he genuinely thought Dean might be happier enjoying life without the demon-tainted brother who seemed to find ways to hurt him even when he wasn't trying. He was convinced he was doing Dean a favor, staying away and giving him his secret dream, the gift of a life without constant disappointment and heartbreak.

But everything had changed, and now that he knew what Dean really wanted, nothing was going to stop him. He stepped a little closer to the window and fixed the profile of the pretty brunette with an icy glare.

Sam knew what he had to do, and the _hell_ with collateral damage.

Lisa felt a chill down her spine. She whipped her head back but saw nothing.

"Are you okay?"

She looked back at the handsome man who was helping her put the clean dishes away.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I thought I heard something out there… but it's nothing. I'm sure everything's fine."

"Okay, but just to be sure, I'll go check it out."

She nodded nervously and rubbed her arms, feeling goose bumps rise on her skin. She didn't know why, but she couldn't help thinking something was wrong.

_**Chapter III – Not Yours, But Mine**_


	5. Chapter III Not Yours, But Mine

**CHAPTER III: NOT YOURS, BUT MINE**

**Summary:** Sam marks his territory.

"You know something's missing."

She startled up, awakened by the presence in her room, and a voice she had heard before.

"You know he's not happy."

Someone turned on the night lamp and her eyes widened with fear. "You can't be here."

It was the middle of the night and she was alone in her bedroom. Ben was asleep and Dean was somewhere, mourning…_him_. She didn't know much about the supernatural, but she knew that if Changelings could take the place of a living child, only something much nastier could morph itself into a man who had been dead for a year to this day.

Sam sat on the opposite end of the bed. "We have to talk, Lisa."

"Get out of here or I'll scream."

"And you're going listen," Sam continued, calmly.

He raised his right hand and curled his fingers, squeezing them tighter and tighter as he twisted his fist. Lisa put her hands to her throat, frightened when she found herself unable to utter a sound. Her body grew heavy, until she could barely lift her little finger. She was terror-stricken, but all she could do was stare at the being that looked exactly like the man whose death had nearly driven Dean over the edge.

"You're going to have to let him go," Sam demanded. "And you'll make it easy on him."

Sam touched the pillow on Dean's side, thinking about all the nights his brother had spent sleeping next to her when he should have been sharing a room with him. "I miss him," he admitted softly. "I know I gave you guys my blessing, but only because I didn't know I was coming back. _I_'m his family. A weekend shared ten years ago and a year playing house are not going to change that."

He sighed and his tone hardened. "But we both know he has too much honor to just walk out on you and your son like a deadbeat; so you're going to have to show him the door."

Lisa couldn't shake her head but her eyes spoke for her. Sam tried to be understanding. "I know it's difficult," he empathized. "He's not the kind of man you just get over. That's why you let him back into your life, your home, with all the danger he could bring to you and Ben. Now that I'm back to take care of him, it would be a real good time for you to realize that you made a mistake."

He got up, walked toward the closet, opened it and pulled one of Dean's shirts by the sleeve. Lisa was surprised by the vulnerability in his voice when he said, "The last time he left me, wrecked me so badly I ended up… doing things I still haven't forgiven myself for."

From the corner of her eye, she saw him lift the fabric to his nose to smell the scent of the man it belonged to. She was even more shocked when he moaned, tortured, "After more than a century, I still ache at the mere thought of him."

Sam put the blue shirt back in its place and he looked at the woman who had replaced him at his brother's side. "Give him back to me, Lisa. He was never yours to begin with. I only lent him to you so you could watch over him and protect him, like he did you and Ben when the two of you needed help."

He stood at the edge of the bed and gave a forced smile. "You've been good to him, when he was alone, broken, and didn't know where to go. Ask me anything you want, I will do whatever it takes to get it for you. A new house somewhere else? Something nice for Ben? Name your price. I'm willing to compensate for the pain losing Dean is going to cause you."

He walked to the door and placed his left hand on the knob. "There are easier ways for me to get rid of you, Lisa," he warned, "but I owe you; so I'm giving you three days to think about this. I'll be back for your answer."

He opened the door, turned around, and added, "Oh, and one last thing. You won't breathe a word of this, if you know what's good for your son. Do we have an understanding?"

He slowly untwisted his fist, waited for Lisa to nod in agreement and teleported himself to the living room, leaving a devastated and petrified Lisa to ponder her options.

* * *

"Damn."

Lisa cursed when the cup of hot tea she had just made herself slipped from her hands and smashed on the kitchen floor. She was still jittery from her encounter with…could it really be Sam Winchester? Whoever the man was, he had incredible powers, a clear obsession with Dean, and a willingness to go to extremes to achieve his ends.

He had to be spying on them, too. How else would he have known that, for the first time in a whole year, Dean was spending the night outside of the house? Was he watching her, or worse, listening in on her thoughts, ready to attack Ben if she tried to tell Dean what was going on?

She dropped the broom and jumped, her heart rising to her throat. She was supposed to have two more days to think. What was he doing here so soon? Obviously he knew she was home alone again, and decided to pay a visit.

"Have you thought about my offer?" he asked.

She moved forward, trying to get closer to the knife holder.

"Don't even think about it," he said nonchalantly. "You won't get there in time."

She believed him and stood still.

"I had time to think," he said. "I realize that I may have been a little impulsive yesterday. When I came up with that plan, I missed one key element. I want Dean out of here, but I don't want him to think you left him because he wasn't good enough. You might think that I'm not a very nice person and that's fine; but I care about Dean, and the last thing I want is for him to be rejected by the first woman he felt safe with in a long time. You no longer have to do my dirty work by throwing him out. I changed my mind."

She gasped.

"I wouldn't be here chatting if I wanted you dead," he said matter-of-factly. "You'd be…" He looked up and pointed to the ceiling taking a perverse pleasure in looking as malevolent as he could, "…up there already."

"What do you want from me?"

"Keep your mouth shut while I work my magic. I'll get him to walk out of here with your blessing. If you don't hold your end of the bargain, I'll know, and…"

"What! You'll hurt me? He'll know who you truly are and…"

"And _what_, Lisa! He'll choose you over me? You must be joking."

She stepped back as he lunged toward her, nostrils flaring like an angry bull about to charge. He had done nothing but threaten her since he had appeared, but for the first time, she was truly afraid he would attack her with the frightening powers he seemed to possess.

"Dean will never choose _anyone_ over me! I could walk in your bedroom tomorrow tonight and walk right out with him! I simply want to make this as easy as possible for him."

Sam pressed his hand over his chest to steady his heartbeat when he heard the plates rattle in the sink. Since he had heard Dean call out for him that night in the garage, his control over his telekinetic powers was slipping. The day he had been waiting for, since he had recovered his memory, was finally coming and he could barely contain himself anymore.

He took a deep breath and used a calmer tone. "I'm willing to work with you, to spare him unnecessary pain. Can you do that?"

He offered something that looked like a smile but was really just an invitation not to piss him off.

When she nodded fearfully, his lips stretched to uncover rows of brilliant white teeth, and he exhaled, "Good. Glad to have you on board. I'll be in touch."

Lisa watched the stranger vanish into thin air. She slid to the floor and covered her trembling mouth with her palm. Whoever this man was, she didn't have the strength or resources to go against him. Somewhere, she could also feel, no matter how insane he seemed to her, that he meant Dean no harm.

Her heart would break from having to relearn life without the wonderful man she had come to discover and love during the past year, but she had a son to protect and he came first. They would overcome. They had before. Whatever this thing was, Dean could handle it. She was not going to endanger her child by holding on too tight to a man who clearly wasn't hers to keep.

_**Chapter IV – Smoke And Subterfuges**_


	6. Chapter IV Smoke & Subterfuges P1

**CHAPTER IV: SMOKE AND SUBTERFUGES**

**PART I: SCHEMES & COINS**

**Summary:** Dean realizes he can't outrun his past. Sam's a badass, sexy mofo who gets the job done ;)

Dean slammed the hood of the truck close, glad to be finished for the day. He wiped his hands on the rag he kept in his pocket and placed his toolbox on a shelf of the wall cabinet. He winced when he looked at his watch: 7:45 pm already. He was running late and Lisa must be worried. He was heading toward the small office of the auto repair shop to call her when a delicate scent of perfume, incongruous in a place that usually smelled like oil and grease, filled his nose, stopping him dead in his tracks.

He turned around and looked at the blonde girl standing a few feet away from him, his hunter senses kicking as soon as he noticed that her vertiginous heels should have made a lot of noise had she walked from the entrance through the empty garage.

He tensed, ready to fight, even if he was caught with his pants down. He couldn't exactly paint devil's traps on the ceilings and floors at the shop, or walk around with Ruby's knife, a flask of holy water, and small bottle of salt stuffed in the side pockets of his blue coveralls.

"Who are you?" he asked with authority.

"Well, if it isn't Mister Bossy Winchester. Shooting for employee of the month, I see? You're working late, but what else is there to do when you have no one to go home to." The girl's eyes flared black. "Guess I could give you a peanut butter kiss to comfort you. I do love a man in uniform."

"Meg."

She patted her curls. "New look. You like? I had to let the other one go after your cloud-hopping pal roasted her like a turkey."

He looked around for a wrench or a screw driver another worker might have left lying around, anything he could use as a weapon.

"Looking for this?" She pulled the demon-killing knife out her vest. "Tsk tsk tsk, you shouldn't leave your magic toys in your jacket. A little rusty, are we?"

"How did you find me?"

"Me and a small army of demons have been looking for you all year. You've been flying under the radar, Deano."

She walked toward him, twirling the knife around.

"You've pissed a lot of people off. Because of you and your brother, my kind is relegated to the basement again when we should have been the belles of the ball. I finally found you, and I'm gonna make you pay."

Dean gave her a mock yawn and replied smugly, "You've been singing this solo for how long now? Do it already, see if you can make it a hit!"

"Oh no, that would be too easy. I came here to warn you, _Dean_. I'm gonna start off with anyone who's ever helped you, gave you shelter, anyone you ever loved, anyone who gets close to you. I will take them out, one by one, like I did dear Johnny's friends, until you have no one. Then I will rip your pretty face off strip by strip, and when you finally beg for mercy ―or death–, I'll sic the hounds on you to finish you off."

She grabbed his jaw and lowered his face to hers. Dean played along, and when she got close enough to kiss him, he pulled her toward him violently and twisted her wrist, punching her twice before yanking the knife from her.

"You always did talk too much, Meg."

She yelped and jumped back, narrowly avoiding the knife thrust that should have sliced clear through her gut and kept moving backward, fear showing in her eyes as she stared at the blade.

"Even if you kill me, there's more where I came from!"

Dean marched toward her. "I don't care!"

He was about to throw the knife square into her chest when she opened her mouth with a scream to let out a swirl of black smoke before falling to the floor like a rag doll. He ran to the girl's help.

"Are you okay?"

The girl coughed and nodded. "Wa…water," she begged weakly.

"Sure. Be right back."

Dean ran to the tiny employee kitchen to pour her a glass. When he came back, only thirty seconds had passed but the girl had disappeared. He looked around, rubbed his palm over his eyes and sighed.

It was starting again.

* * *

"Why are we stopping here?"

"She's going to the ER. Don't wake her up."

"Why does she need to go there? ...You can't kill me! At least send me back to Hell!"

"I can do whatever I want and you know it."

"I did my job. I didn't hurt him. I did everything you asked."

"You didn't have a choice."

"Maybe, but I didn't like it. He almost stabbed me."

"You demons always complain when you get a taste of your own medicine. How is this any different from what you've been doing to your meat suits since the beginning of time? Humans don't want you inside them either... well, maybe except for this one."

Sam opened the passenger door to let Meg know it was time she got out of his car. He never used random people when he put a demon to work. Plenty of witches and wannabe Satanists were praying around the clock for that honor over inverted pentagrams, or during faux black masses held in suburban basements when parents were out at work. Even then, he made sure the demon always put the host to sleep. He might be less sensitive to other people's pain, but he had never forgotten how taxing being ridden by a demon could be; and he could only imagine what having one explode inside of your body felt like. At least now, he was powerful enough to keep the hosts alive, leaving them sick and disoriented rather than six feet under.

Meg got out and leaned over the car window. "Please, hear me out," she pleaded with the soft voice of the rosy cheeked curse-casting witch she was possessing.

"Walk. Go inside."

Her face twisted with desperation, Meg turned around and put one foot in front of the other. She didn't want to, but she was under the influence of a being much more powerful than she was. She shook when the sliding doors slammed shut behind her. She didn't want to die.

"Goodbye, Meg."

From outside of the hospital, Sam closed his eyes and raised his right hand. Inside, the girl choked and convulsed while he was killing the demon inside of her. Mandy Fisher collapsed on the floor. When she opened her eyes, she was sick as a dog, surrounded by nurses and had no idea how she had landed on a gurney, or sprained her wrist… or who the man with the green eyes and a smudge of grease on the cheek was.

Tires squealed in the parking lot as Sam raced back to the garage. "Everything's going to be okay, my love," he whispered. He smirked. Step One of his plan couldn't have gone more smoothly. He looked at the empty seat next to him and smiled. _Soon._

* * *

Dean dropped the magical coins inside a rag. Six in total he had found after several searches. The demonic tracking devices Meg had planted on his clothes, personal effects, and in hidden corners of his truck glinted malevolently in his hand. He poured some salt over them to burn their power away and watched it evaporate in a grey cloud that smelled like rotten eggs.

He hopped into his truck and drove until he found a remote area. There, he dug a hole in the ground, buried the folded cloth and sprinkled some holy water over the freshly moved dirt. It was more than enough to render the coins harmless and sever the link that tied them to him. It wouldn't do much, however, to stop demons from finding him again, especially since Castiel had probably erased the marks on his bones at the same time as he had the hand print on his shoulder.

He sat behind the wheel, leaned his head against the seat, and shut his eyes. "Sonuvabitch," he cursed tiredly. He couldn't believe he had been naïve enough to think the past wouldn't catch up with him. After an exceptionally quiet year, he had fooled himself into thinking that he was really out. The apocalypse had been averted and no demon or strange creature had knocked on his door asking for trouble. He should have known it was only a respite in a war that had never stopped.

Sure, Meg didn't know about Ben and Lisa, yet. Demons lied, but he knew this one, and she ran her mouth too much to be able to keep such an explosive piece of information to herself; it was only a matter of time before she, or the other demons she was working with, zeroed in on them. Even if he never went back to the garage, he was not going to be able to hide from them forever. He couldn't have Ben and Lisa carry hex bags every single moment of their lives, and the one angel who would care enough about their fate to brand protective sigils on their ribs was nowhere to be found.

He checked his watch, 10:52 pm. He had cut off his phone and Lisa must be freaking out. He couldn't risk her calling him when he was riddled with tracking devices. He was still scared to go home in case he had missed just one, the one that would lead the demons straight to their house. He needed to search the car one last time.

"Sonuvabitch," he repeated. What was he thinking, dragging innocent civilians into the bloody, angry, violent mess that was his life? He had to face the facts. Lisa and her son would never be safe as long as they had ties to him.

_Part II: Pact With The Devil's Own _


	7. Chapter IV Smoke & Subterfuges P2

**PART II: PACT WITH THE DEVIL'S OWN**

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica po… potes…tas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et s…secta diaboli… Dean…"

"This is important, Lisa."

"I know. I've been trying to learn this exorcism for five days now. I don't speak Latin!"

"Me neither. You just have to get used to the words in case you need to read them one day. If you trap a demon, you can't have it hanging out in the house stuck under a devil's trap like a coat hanger. You gotta send the bastard back!"

Lisa chuckled and lost herself into the thickly lashed green eyes for a second. She was going to miss him so much.

"Protection," Dean continued.

She huffed and started reciting, "Salt at the doors and windows at all times. Protective circle in case of trouble. Holy water in every drink served, in a perfume bottle I can use as pepper spray if I get suspicious. The hex bags in the house, in the car, in Ben's back pack, in my purse. The seal of Solomon, at the front door, under the carpets in the car, in the trunk, I carry a can of spray paint everywhere and I practice the drawing everyday in case of an emergency. I'm going to be fine!"

Dean looked down with a sad smile. He wished he could share her optimism. She was smart, resourceful, and a great student; but what about Ben? He was a kid who still had to go to school, play outside, do all the things kids did, and it didn't include playing hide and seek with black-eyed girls in pigtails. He sat on the couch and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. She sat next to him.

"You think Ben could be in danger, don't you?"

Dean looked at her. It had been a week since Meg had made her unwelcome reappearance. He had never gone back to work and spent his time training Lisa since the night he had buried the coins. He had also been thinking about their situation, trying to come up with the best solution for all involved, going back and forth between staying to protect them, or leaving to protect them. He hoped she would forgive him one day for the option he had chosen, and for all of the chaos he was bringing into her life.

"He already is," he replied plainly, "and so are you. It was a clear warning. This is not some random Changeling that could have picked another neighborhood. You two are marked because of me."

Lisa took a deep breath and nodded quietly.

"You're taking this a little too well." He tried to ease the tension with a joke. "I notice I'm still in one piece."

She touched the anti-possession charm hanging from her necklace and gave him a smile. "Dean, when I invited you in, I knew there was a risk, and I also knew you'd do anything to protect me and my son. That was my decision. I'm not gonna fault you for something I chose to do. I would do it all over again, having you with me, watching you give Ben so many memories… it was worth it."

"Lisa, I'm so sorry. This is all my f…"

"You're not hearing me. I'm a big girl and I made my choice. You're cute and you might be some big hero, but I still could have kicked your butt to the curb."

Dean smiled. She took his hand and asked, "What do I need to do to keep my son safe?"

"Do you have a place where you can go for a while, while I hunt them down?"

"Yes. It's a good thing we're not in the middle of the school year."

"You have to go there. I'm gonna give you everything you need to be safe on the road, and I'll put you in contact with a preacher who can help."

"Okay."

"I can't go with you."

"I know that."

He swallowed noiselessly and delivered the last blow. "We can communicate but I can't know where you are. If I fight those things and lose, they will get it out of me. I won't fail, but I'd rather not take that risk."

She looked up at the ceiling to keep the tears from falling. "I understand."

"It's only temporary. I'll get them, I swear and then..."

"This preacher, he'll know what to do if we're in trouble?"

"He delivers sermons with a gun strapped to his leg. He's the man for the job."

"Then I'm sure we'll be fine, and I think it would be best if we try to move on. Ben needs stability. I don't know how long this is going to take you and I can't put our lives on hold."

"I would never ask you to."

"I want you to move on, too. After you find those things, keep doing what you do. Too many people still need you out there, so do your job and don't look back."

Dean absorbed her words, letting the feeling of loss and the conviction that they were doing the right thing settle in his chest before asking, "What about Ben?"

"Don't worry about him. I would never let my son think that you wanted to hurt him and that you abandoned us. He knows what you do, and he'll miss you; but I'll make sure he understands that you had to go back to the field and fight to make sure we, and other people, stayed safe."

Dean looked at her, impressed by her generous nature, and especially by her strength where another would have surely fallen apart. He had no idea how she had just managed to let him go without making him feel like he was breaking her heart and depriving Ben of the only father he knew. Better, she was promising to keep him as a cherished memory in their hearts.

He pulled her in his arms. "Thank you. You'll be safe, I promise, and you'll always have a way to contact me whenever you need me."

She clung to his shoulders and nodded tearfully.

"I'd like to spend some time with Ben before I leave. I don't want to just disappear on him."

"Of course. I wouldn't let you do that, but first, we have to discuss what we're going to tell him."

She pulled away from him and wiped her cheeks.

"Hey, could you go get me a couple of things at the grocery store? We'll talk more when you get back."

"Are you sure?" Dean asked, surprised by the unexpected request at a moment like this.

"Yes. I really need a moment alone."

She handed him the shopping list she had prepared, watched him grab the keys and drive off, and waited. She cringed when the sound of slow clapping echoed in her ears.

Sam Winchester stepped out from behind the door.

"Good job, Lisa. You were superb. You memorized that script like a pro."

She looked down and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I meant it," she shot back, tired of being manipulated. "I knew what I was getting into when I asked him to stay."

She knew he had won and had no more reason to hurt them, but now, she simply couldn't hold her tongue anymore. He had threatened her, toyed with her, turned her life upside down, and destroyed her happy home without a care. She owed it to herself to at least try to wipe that smug look off his face.

She looked him straight in the eyes and retaliated, "I wouldn't take any of it back. The time we spent together; the times he held me, kissed me, made love to me, fell asleep in my arms..."

Sam's jaw twitched. Two months earlier, the ceiling would have been decorating the floor. Lucky for her, he had learned to control his negative emotions. He stretched his lips into a closed, menacing smile before answering, "You're going to love the house, Lisa, the neighborhood, too. And you can whip the bored housewives from that nice little community into shape in your shiny new studio. Don't act like I'm the enemy here. I know you're hurting, but I gave you the very best. Your life will be easy and your son is going to a great school. Trying to get a rise out of me after _everything_ I had to do to make it happen will only remind me that I could have spared myself the trouble."

He crossed his arms over his chest and added dispassionately, "We still have business together. In a few days, we're supposed to write him a nice, sweet, happy, reassuring letter to let him know how great you and Ben are doing. You might want to stay on my good side."

He held her gaze, responding to the contempt that filled her eyes with a triumphant sneer and waited until she had left the room to limp toward the door. He couldn't pull off the disappearing act that usually concluded their interactions, and he didn't want her to know that he could be weakened. He needed her scared, paranoid, thinking he was, at all times, powerful enough to read her thoughts and paralyze her in her sleep with a snap of his fingers.

His batteries were completely drained, and he was still recovering from using his powers at full capacity to create a new Dean-free life for Lisa somewhere far away. He had spent days running around, pulling demons strings, and broken his golden rule of never allowing them to possess an unwilling host, to run them through a dozen bodies, so Lisa could be signed into a charming three-bedroom house, hired at a high-end health club, and for Ben to be enrolled into a new school, no questions asked.

He could barely stand on his feet when he had made his way to Lisa's house to witness the break up scene; but he had to make sure she stuck to the plan. He took cautious steps on shaky legs and dragged himself to the street where he parked his car. He tripped once, pulled himself back up, and kept going.

He was so exhausted; he wouldn't have enough strength to drive himself home. He decided he would just take the car out of the neighborhood and take a nap. He opened the door and slid behind the wheel. He coughed and wiped the blood that dripped from his nose. He was a wreck, but it was all worth it.

Soon his brother would be with him again; and after he had bound Dean to him with one of the most powerful blood spell he knew, he would have everything he didn't know he wanted, until his brother had placed himself under Lucifer's fists so Sam would know, just how much Dean loved him.

_**Chapter V: Netted Butterfly**_


	8. Chapter V Netted Butterfly P1 TMP

**CHAPTER V: NETTED BUTTERFLY **

**PART I: THE MISSING PIECE**

**Summary:** Sam wins. So, he wins. _Translation_: Sammy gets his man. About time all that scheming paid off too!

Dean stretched his arms above his head with a yawn. He winced when the knotted muscles of his neck and shoulders protested. After living the cushy suburban life for a year, he had gotten out the habit of sleeping in a car. He rubbed his eyes and fished the leftovers of a salami sandwich out of the greasy paper bag lying on the passenger side. He took a bite and glanced at the empty seat with a mournful gaze. He had never imagined that reuniting with his baby would be so difficult. For all the love he had for the Impala, she just didn't feel the same without Sammy. Nothing did, actually.

He tossed the piece of dry bread back into the bag and started the car. He needed to buy a real breakfast, read the local papers, and find himself something to hunt. He had never known how hard it was to run away from your own thoughts when there was nothing to do, or no one around to distract you, and he had way too much time to think since he had ganked the demons Meg had sent after him in the podunk town of Red Creek, Iowa.

He had spent his first week alone in Cicero, tracking omens in the area, trying to find a pattern that would help him flush out the "small army" of demons Meg had bragged about. He had come up with nothing, and as soon as he had received a message from Lisa telling him that she and Ben were safe and well, he had left the county to broaden his search. After days on the road and no results, he had taken residence in an empty, rundown house in the dusty town of Red Creek, ditched the hex bags, and stopped laying salt lines.

That very week, the sons of bitches had come running through the path he had cleared for them to find themselves confined within the devil's traps drawn all over the floor with invisible ink. It wasn't much of an army, and he had quickly slaughtered four black-eyed soldiers and kept a hostage that he had interrogated, using the techniques he had learned down under, before jamming the magic knife inside the demon's throat as soon as he was sure that no other demons were on Lisa and Ben's trail, and that Meg was no longer a threat.

He was parked near a gas station, nibbling on a powdered donut, when his phone rang. He put his coffee down to pick it up and, before he could even said hello, an uncharacteristically cheery voice asked, "Kid, how soon can you get here?"

* * *

Sam cracked his fingers. He glanced at the window for the hundredth time, picked a book, and put it back down. _Shouldn't he be here by now?_ he wondered, pacing back and forth. What if something had happened? An accident on the road? He ran his fingers through his hair, scoffing at his own paranoia. Since Bobby had called Dean, the wait had been excruciating, and he could hardly keep still.

He was almost there. Close to six months of loneliness, longing, then hope and careful planning, and now that he was this close to finally seeing him, he felt like he was going crazy and could not stop glaring at his watch, as if he could scare the hands dragging lazily across the dial into moving faster.

After chasing Lisa out of town, he had started following Dean again, making sure he was alright. His brother was busy hunting a nonexistent threat and it kept him from falling prey to the sadness of losing yet another family. Too many times he had wanted to sneak into Dean's room while he slept, but he was aware that the only way for him to reappear without being too suspicious was by showing up at Bobby's first, and he did not want to take useless risks.

He had bided his time and kept an eye on his brother in silence while he worked on the next step of his plan: Sending demons on a hunt for the appropriate meat suits; freshly killed John Does no one would come to claim. He had to take these precautions, because even if Dean would never learn the truth, he knew his brother would have never forgiven him for butchering living human shields as part of the nefarious scheme he had devised to eliminate the competition. Once his death-row prisoners had donned their stripes, he had waited for the right moment, and then sent them into Dean's shack a couple days after he had seen his brother burn all his hex bags.

And now, after doing more than a few things that would make his former cage mate proud, he felt like that hopeful, needy, innocent little kid again, waiting for the return of the big brother who had taken the sun with him when he had left home for yet another hunt with Dad.

His heart jumped when he heard the unmistakable sound of the car he had spent his life in pulling into the yard. He looked around, surprised nothing was shaking, as it sometimes did these days, whenever he felt a powerful rush of emotions. For the first time in a long time, he also felt something like peace. He leaned against the first piece of furniture he bumped into, hands trapped behind him, stopping himself from racing to the door.

He closed his eyes, listening to the two men talk, his ear clinging to the sound of his brother's voice; he even recognized Dean's footsteps, the sound of his boots on the floor. When he heard them getting close to the living-room, he stood straight, his throat suddenly dry. He had seen him a hundred times, but it was the first time that the other looked back. His heart missed a beat and he was slightly out of breath when he greeted, "Hey Dean."

_Part II: Home_


	9. Chapter V Netted Butterfly P2 Home

**PART II: HOME**

"Look who I found trying to break into my house," Bobby announced to the newcomer with a smile that wouldn't have been out of place on a proud father's face.

Dean stared at the man standing in Bobby Singer's living-room in speechless shock, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

"I did the drill," Bobby said. "It's really him."

"Sammy?" Dean moved closer to the apparition.

"I tried calling Lisa's house and your old cell phones, but no one answered," Sam said, looking soft and puppy-eyed and the very picture of innocence. "I didn't know where to go, so I came here."

"I don't know which one was more surprised to see the other one alive," Bobby recalled.

Sam took a shaky step forward, and before he could take another, Dean grabbed him and crushed him against his chest, squeezing the air out of him. Sam threw his arms around him in response, his fingers digging into flesh where they landed, around the shoulders and into the back. He felt the soft short hair brush against his cheek like a caress, and he filled his lungs with brother's familiar smell. He had made it, finally. He leaned against the solid body and rested his head heavily on his big brother's shoulder, like a tattered ship washed ashore after the storm.

Dean tightened his hold around him and threaded his fingers into his hair at his nape to pull him closer. A warmth slowly spread through Sam's limbs, and the emptiness in his heart started to fade when he was caught in the strong and protective embrace. He felt as safe as one could, when hiding so many secrets, and like an old, tired traveler finally reaching home after a never ending journey through the desert. He buried his face in his brother's neck and let himself fall into him with relief, letting Dean carry him and the weight of all the pain and suffering he wore everyday like a coat of ice sown into his skin. He held on for dear life, feeling closer to tears than he had in an eternity. A few seconds locked tight in Dean's arms and he could already feel dormant vestiges of his previous self swish in their sleep like dead leaves pushed by a gentle breeze.

When the fingers tangled in his hair started sliding down his back, he clutched his brother's shirt, not quite ready to be set free. Dean understood his gesture, and he immediately pulled him close again and with such force that they swayed for a second before regaining their balance. They stood quietly; eyes closed and lost in each other's arms, forgetting where they were and everything, except the miracle they were experiencing.

They let go slowly, hands lingering on fabric and flesh a moment longer before sliding away reluctantly.

Somewhere, someone cleared their throat, breaking the spell. They tore their eyes from one another and looked at Bobby, noticing his moist eyes when he patted their shoulders. He grabbed some glasses, filled them with old rotgut, and made a quick toast to Sam's return.

They sat around the kitchen table with their drinks and started chatting about Bobby and Rufus's latest hunts, prolonging the joy of the reunion by keeping the conversation light and avoiding painful topics. Bobby excused himself half an hour later, blaming his old man bones, and using the late hour to give the brothers some time alone. They emptied their glasses and went upstairs shortly after.

* * *

Dean pulled the covers off the double bed and lay on his back, one arm folded behind his head. His gaze followed his brother's every move, as Sam swapped his plaid shirt and dark blue jeans for a grey t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. When Bobby had called him early that morning, he had given no indication as to what was going on. It was probably a good idea. Dean wasn't sure he could have made it to Sioux Falls without causing a car crash or two; and even now that he had seen it with his own two eyes, he still had a hard time believing it.

He looked at Sam from head to toe, trying to figure out if anything had changed. He knew, all too well, what atrocities human souls were subjected to in the pit, and his brother had the greatest torturer Hell had to offer all to himself. Dean had only escaped physically undamaged thanks to divine intervention. He had no idea if his brother had been as 'lucky'.

When Sam joined him on the mattress, Dean reached over to him. He touched his arm and squeezed his shoulder before carefully patting his upper body, like a doctor checking for abnormalities, all the while looking Sam up and down.

Sam patiently let himself be examined, knowing Dean needed to be reassured that he was real, and that all the pieces were where they were supposed to be. The searching fingers moved up to his face. They grazed his neck, as they touched the tip of his hair, and Sam felt a slight tingle at the intimate contact. He looked down, hiding the sigh he let out by admitting, "I know, I need a haircut. Guess I had other things to worry about."

_Indeed_, Dean thought, remembering that a trip to the barber shop wasn't high on his list of priorities either when he had returned topside himself. All he cared about was that, by some kind of magic, Sam was alive and whole, right in front of him, and it made Dean so happy he wouldn't think to bitch about anything.

"It's okay. I don't hate it."

Dean felt the words slip out of his mouth, and pulled his hand away as soon as he realized what he had actually said. Hoping Sam wouldn't read too much into it, he added jokingly, "Might make it harder to dodge Casper if it can grab you by the ponytail."

He waited for it: The 'you're still not funny and that joke was lame' face. It was a little slow to come, and sort of weak, but Sam tried.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, serious.

"I am now," Sam replied. He knew his brother was hoping for one of his legendary bitchfaces, but he was simply too glad to see him to put on a convincing display of little brotherly annoyance.

"When did you get out?"

"Six months ago."

"Six…?"

"I woke up in a hospital and didn't remember who I was. I didn't remember anything when I came back," he explained quickly, so Dean wouldn't start asking what had taken him so long.

"That means you were in there for seven months…seventy years."

"Times two."

"What?"

"A hundred and forty years. Time is twice as long in the cage, and there's no such thing as sleep in Hell, but you knew that already."

"You and Adam were…"

"Adam was never in the cage. I guess Zachariah kept his promise and freed him to go back to his mother the minute he said yes. His body was empty when Michael got out of him."

Dean's relief, upon hearing that their little brother had gone to Heaven, was quickly replaced by incredulity.

"Wait," he said. "Michael just got out? After the lengths Zachariah went through to secure him a vessel?"

"They only needed human skins while on earth. Once they got downstairs, they shed us and fought in their true forms until Michael fell."

"Michael lost? How is that possible?"

"They fought for decades. Thirty years at least. Lucifer kept saying that he didn't want to do it."

"_Brother, let's not do this. What good is it for us to fight now?" _

"He kept reminding Michael of happier times when they were close. He begged him to put an end to it. Michael resisted for a long time. Out of duty, but also out of pride. Killing Lucifer was his divine mission, and he didn't want to fail in the eyes of their father. But Lucifer never stopped trying, and when Michael finally gave in and stopped the fight, Lucifer took him by surprise and killed him."

"I can't believe it. Michael was supposed to win that battle."

"He probably would have, if he hadn't trusted his brother. But you what the funny thing is? I think Lucifer did it out of love. He knew that no one down there had the power to kill an Archangel but himself. If Michael won, it would mean that Michael would be the one trapped in Hell, maybe forever, if God left him there. Lucifer couldn't get out, but Michael could still go back to Heaven… if he died."

Sam shook his head, always amazed by the fact that the evil beast that was Lucifer had been capable of loving anyone, then he continued, "After the fight was over, Lucifer turned his attention back to me. As you can imagine, he was rather upset with me for derailing the master plan. He started digging in my head, looking for my worst nightmares, replaying them, over and over, Mom's death, Jessica's, Dad's, yours. Every bad thing that ever happened in my life. He just stood there, staring at me, and made me relive them constantly, a million times. "

"_Thousands of years, trapped in this cage like a rat, waiting for the day I would finally be free. And you?. You measly, insignificant little ape had the gall to defy me and fuck it all up. At least, we're together now, aren't we… __freak? You and me, together, forever, every second of everyday."_

Sam tensed, pain jolting through him as if it was happening all over again.

"Then he decided to have a little more fun, and he started with the torture. In his real form, he doesn't need tools. He can peel your skin off, saw your limbs off, chop you into bits, you name it, just by thinking it. Doesn't even need to touch you... He did, though. He really liked the feeling of blood and guts dripping all over these things… I can't really call them hands." Sam shivered. "He would wait for all of it to grow back, and start over. I never made a sound, didn't shed a single tear. He did this thing, right before he got out of me, like he was shutting something down, inside me. He knew I would feel even less human, if I lost the ability to express…anything."

Dean grabbed his brother's trembling hand, feeling a rush of anger almost suffocate him. Not a moment had gone by that he hadn't regretted not jumping into the hole with Sam. He wouldn't have been able to protect him there, but at least his brother wouldn't have been all alone with that monster.

"It was so cold, always so cold. Then one day, I couldn't feel the cold anymore, and I started hoping that maybe my mind could go numb, too. I prayed I would go insane. It was the only escape, since he was never going to let me go. I thought that, if I could sink deep enough into madness, my mind would no longer be able to register what was going on; I wouldn't feel anything anymore."

Dean stared at the dry, frightened eyes, knowing that Sammy was still trapped with all that pain, with every moment of the torment he had lived, every scream choked inside his throat, with torrents of uncried tears drowning him from the inside. He squeezed his hand tighter. He wanted to say something, but he knew his brother wasn't done.

"I started forgetting bits and pieces of our life. I couldn't remember Dad's face, just his body burning on the pyre, or Mom's face on the pictures, where she was smiling and happy. I was starting to forget you, too… how you looked when you weren't being chewed on by hellhounds."

He squeezed Dean's hand back, to draw a little strength from him, and said, "Sometimes, I would feel something pull me; this force, coming from far away, grabbing at me, and trying to pull me out. Lucifer would sink his hooks into me, and each was pulling so hard. I never knew how they didn't break me in half every time. The good thing was that he had to stop torturing me when it happened. Then the force would disappear, but it would always come back and try to yank me out of his claws. And one day, I was out."

Dean looked at his brother, words failing him as he tried to process everything Sam had gone through. His voice was gruff and his eyes stung when he finally asked, "Do you know who pulled you out?"

Sam tried to pull away, but Dean didn't release his hand.

"I just want to show you something," Sam explained before Dean agreed to let him go.

Sam handed him the two envelopes and repeated what the nurses had said.

"Did you see him?" Dean asked.

"No, I was unconscious when he dropped me off at the hospital, but I felt his presence when he got me out. He threw this bolt of heat at me and it lulled me to sleep and healed the worst of my injuries. Even after being treated at the hospital, I would have come out a drooling mess if it wasn't for him."

"Sam…"

Sam covered his eyes and gave a tired smile. He didn't want to talk about this anymore. Diving so deep into the memories of Hell was painful, but having to lie to Dean, over and over if he asked what Sam had done after leaving the hospital, would be just as unpleasant.

"Tell me about you, please?" he asked, looking at Dean. "Why weren't you at Lisa's? I want to know what you've been up to this past year."

He already knew almost half of it, but he just wanted to lie there, forget all about the Devil's torture chamber, and listen to Dean's voice while looking at him to his heart content, without having to hide in the shadows like a thief.

Dean nodded, understanding Sam's desire to change topics. He talked about his suburban routine, glossing over his own grief to avoid reminding Sam of the things he no longer wanted to talk about.

Sam listened, as his brother painted a picture of his life with Lisa and Ben, and scrutinized his reactions when he told the tale of demons and coins that Sam had written himself.

"They were in danger because of me," Dean lamented after he had explained why things had gone south. "I should have known."

"You thought it was over," Sam comforted. "Don't beat yourself up. You said yourself that she sent you a message saying everything was fine."

"Yeah, and I know that Pastor Gideon will be there for them and let me know if they ever need help. He seemed like the right choice at the time because, unlike Bobby, the preacher man has a whole town of warriors at his disposal."

"If anyone can keep them safe…You made the right call, Dean."

Sam searched his brother's eyes for a sign that he missed his old life. He was relieved when he found none. Still, he needed to be sure.

"Are you going to go back?" he asked. "I know you guys broke it off, but now that you got rid of the threat…"

"No," Dean answered without hesitation. "I left them and it was for the best. Today, it's a demon, tomorrow, who knows what? You know how it is with us. Civilians who get too close always pay the ultimate price."

"I'm sorry, Dean. You must be unhappy," Sam stated, to test him.

"With you back?" Dean replied with such conviction that Sam's heart beat a little faster. "Sure, I hate how things ended. I hate that I put them in danger and disrupted their lives like that. They didn't deserve it, but we were kidding ourselves. I'm no suburban Dad, I'm a hunter, and this is where I need to be; on the field, hopefully with the second best hunter around watching my back." Dean raised his eyebrows in question.

"You can count on it," Sam promised with no reservations, now that all his doubts had been put to rest.

"Not too soon, though. We need to get you back in fighting shape," Dean joked. "Make sure you're hundred percent." He laid a soft punch against Sam's chest, feeling victorious when he scored an eye roll and a smile.

He brushed Sam's hand. "You know what I think about destiny, Sammy,…" he said, looking at their fingers, "but with them out of my life and you coming back this way, I can't help but think that maybe there's a message here I'm supposed to get."

"You and me against the world."

"Never really works out when were apart, you noticed that?"

"Don't remind me," Sam scoffed, remembering the Ruby debacle and the months he had spent on autopilot while the Trickster made him the butt of his cruel joke.

"Hey, no matter what, in the end, we always got each other, right, Sammy?"

"No matter what." _You'll always have me, Dean. I'm not letting anyone tear us apart. Ever again._

Dean touched Sam's waist, then slid his palm over his back, examining it the way he had his chest previously. Sam was missing a few pounds, nothing too alarming, but enough to be noticeable.

"How are you doing? Physically," he added. "There's a little less of you. Not Kate Mossy or anything, I mean you're still a big damn Sasquatch."

"I can't believe I missed that." Sam chuckled, feeling a gentle joy filter through the layer of sorrow that had been weighing him down for so long. "The way you make it sound like an insult so I won't notice how worried you really are." He moved closer to his brother, happy when Dean kept his arm right where it was. "I'm okay. Just haven't had much of an appetite lately."

Dean took the envelopes that were being crushed between them and placed them on the bedside table. He wondered what Sam's first days on his own had been like. He was grateful that the Mighty Reaper had put money in his envelope so that Sam was able to use it for food and shelter. He was surprised that a being so powerful had bothered with the insignificant details of human life, no matter how pleased he might be to be rid of the "bratty" devil, thanks to Sam's sacrifice.

Six months was a long time. He wondered if his brother had gone hungry after the money had run out, if he had been scared all alone, with no memory of who he was and no one to turn to for help. He knew Sam could take care of himself, but he couldn't help being worried. Hell did strange things to a guy; no matter how strong he believed he was... He held Sam tighter, vowing to protect him until his last breath and to never let anything like that happen to him again.

"Sammy." He remembered a time when he was afraid to call that name out loud. It already seemed like a long time ago.

Sam sighed, his eyelids heavy. His brother's arms were melting through the ice that was surrounding him and he felt blissfully tired.

"Missed you," he whispered.

"You said that," Dean teased through a smile as he pulled the covers over them.

"Turn off the light," Sam mumbled sleepily.

"In a minute."

An hour later, the light was still on, and Dean was watching Sam as he slept. His fingers moved back and forth over the slender back, tears spilling from his eyes whenever the image of Sam screaming silently as Lucifer broke him piece by piece flashed in his mind. He imagined a future where they could live a life that wasn't defined by self-sacrifice and torture.

He wanted Sam to have such a life, he wanted to look after him and make sure he was safe and happy. It would have seemed like a pipe dream a year ago, but now that their biggest threat was contained and that Death had given them their lives back, for however long they wanted them, he knew exactly how, and with who, he wanted to spend his; and damn if he wasn't going to try to make the only dream he allowed himself to have come true.

_**Chapter VI: **_


	10. Chapter VI Good Mornings

**CHAPTER VI: GOOD MORNINGS**

Sam tried to pull the sheet to cover his head, as he did every time the first rays of sunlight pierced through his window. He had grown to dread mornings, constant reminders that he had made it through one more night to face yet another day of bitter solitude.

When he was unable to move, he opened his eyes and found his brother lying next to him. Dean had thrown his arm across his chest, pinning Sam's left arm to his side. A rush of tenderness filled Sam as he looked at his brother's face. It was the first time in a long that he had any reason to smile, so early in the morning.

His eyes trailed down to the soft, pouty lips. His stomach clenched at the thought of tasting them. He called his brother's name to see if he was awake. _Just one,_ he thought, when Dean didn't answer. He moved his head to get closer, opened his mouth, then suddenly lost his nerve and pulled away.

He was a lot more confident when he was watching Dean from afar. He had it all planned out then; how he would seduce Dean, slide on top of him in the middle of the night, and kiss him until all Dean could think about was how much he needed Sam. He had imagined the nights they would spend in each other's arms, bodies slick with sweat, rocking together as Dean stamped heat, life, and pleasure back into Sam's battered flesh.

The moment was perfect. It would only take him a second, but he was paralyzed at the thought of doing something he could easily blame on the combination of sleep and a wet dream if Dean woke up before he was done. He wasn't ready for the pain that would come if Dean looked at him with something that resembled disgust, pity, or worse, fear.

He refused to use his powers against Dean, and he now felt shame at the thought of the spell he had been planning on using to force his brother into a bond he had never agreed to. A sad smile shadowed his lips as he stared at his brother. Dean could never know what he had become, the things he had done. He had never been comfortable with the darker side of Sam from the very beginning, and after they had come close to killing each other a couple of times at the height of Sam's addiction to demon blood, Sam had enough of fighting with his brother for a lifetime.

He had changed forever, and he nourished no illusions that the damage could be reversed, but he knew parts of the old Sam still lived inside him, frozen, and struggling for air under layers of ice. That was the Sam Dean loved enough to die for, and he wanted to be him again. He rested his head against Dean's and felt something melt inside him when Dean mumbled in his sleep and pulled him back into his chest.

There was no more trace of sadness in the small smile that curved his lips. After feeling like an empty husk for so long, he seemed overtaken by the different kinds of warm emotions he remembered drowning in as his old self. He curled the part of his arm that he could move around his brother's waist and closed his eyes. Maybe they was a glimmer of hope that Dean could help make him whole again. Together they had beat Lucifer once, maybe they could do it again.

* * *

"Hey little brother, you gonna sleep all day?"

Sam felt something hit his foot. He blinked awake, surprised to find that he had dozed off again. He groaned, his cheek crushed against Dean's pillow, and looked up at his brother who was standing by the bed.

"What do you say we go downstairs, see what Bobby's up to, and go out to grab a bite?" Dean suggested.

"Sounds like a plan," Sam replied, but his eyes started closing again.

"Okay." Dean yanked the covers down, grabbed one of Sam's ankles and started pulling until Sam was legs were hanging off the bed.

Sam uttered a deep, long, weary sigh and followed his brother toward the bathroom. He waited until they had almost reached the door to bump Dean out of the way, eliciting a muttered "Bitch." when he entered first.

Sam' lips stretched into a smile. Even if he would never admit it, for fear that Dean would use it as an invitation to reignite a prank war that would undoubtedly leave Sam half bald or with a bad case of the hives, he had missed their easy complicity. He quickly took off his clothes, leaving only his underwear on, climbed into the bathtub and threw a victorious glance at Dean before snapping the shower curtains shut. _First shower, jerk._

Dean nodded with a grin. He would let the kid have this one; he was an awesome big brother after all, and he was kind of glad to have Sam around. He opened the cabinet and grabbed his razor, mouthwash, toothbrush and a flattened, twisted and sticky tube of toothpaste Sam would most certainly complain about later and started his morning routine. He was brushing his teeth when he heard his name.

"What?" he mumbled around the brush.

"Uh, do you have some shampoo?"

"Yeah it's in-"

Dean lost his train of thought when he caught a glimpse of his brother. Sam was peeking at him through the crack of the curtains. His fingers were wrapped tight around the edge of the plastic that was covering his lower half but there was still plenty of him to see.

Dean's eyes followed the soapy water sluicing down the hard planes of his brother's chest. His hand went slack around the brush when he caught a bubble clinging to Sam's nipple. He quickly lowered his eyes, but the water snaking down Sam's stomach to disappear below his waist didn't help clear his thoughts one bit. He gave a slight jump when Sam spoke again.

"Dean? …Shampoo?"

Dean turned away from the bright, dimpled smile to open the cabinet door once again. He took the almost empty bottle of no name anti-dandruff shampoo and handed it to Sam without looking at him.

He spent the next five minutes trying to shave without injuring himself, but he was too distracted by the noises coming from the other side of the curtains. He kept picturing Sam, his back arched as he ran his fingers through his tangled mane, foam sliding down the crease of his back all the way down to his…

Dean cleared his throat and put the razor down. It might not be the best idea to attempt shaving the skin so close to his neck when Sam was rubbing his naked body in such close proximity to him. He pressed his hands down on the sink and let out a short breath. He was usually better at ignoring the effect his little brother had on him. Clearly, going from a year and half long Sam withdrawal to this sudden intimacy was putting his self-control to the test.

"Dean?"

Dean's heart gave a startled leap and he felt stupid about it. It's not like Sam could read his mind or anything. He splashed cold water on his face.

"Jeez, Sam, how did you ever survive without me?" he joked. "What do you want now? I'm warning you, I'm not scrubbing your back." _Not interested. Not even a little bit._

Sam cringed. If he had the sack, he would come out in his birthday suit and put on a little show. He sighed. Another opportunity wasted, because of his lack of courage. They weren't shy around each other, but they had never paraded around without at least something to cover their privates either… unless they were ready for the fallout. Sam wasn't. Frustrated and disappointed in himself, he asked, "Can you hand me a towel, please?"

Dean misinterpreted the sullen tone. It had to be worry, he thought, and in any other circumstance, Sam would have been right to be apprehensive. This was the kind of golden opportunities Dean never let slide by. Using Sam's predicament to blackmail him into washing the Impala for a month? Withholding the towel until he had Sam admit something particularly humiliating about his secret porn watching habits? Grabbing the rest of Sam's clothes and waiting until he was shivering from the cold to consider the request? The possibilities were endless.

But as it turned out, Dean was too busy ducking behind the mirrored cabinet door and fumbling around the shelves to hide his face long enough for the word 'pervert' to vanish from his forehead to try anything. He tossed the towel over the curtain, then took a swig of mouthwash and started gargling, his head tilted back and his eyes firmly fixed on the ceiling when Sam drew the curtains open.

He slipped into the shower as soon as it was empty and wrapped his palm around his aching flesh the second he heard Sam close the bathroom door.

* * *

Sam laid his clothes on his side of the bed. He winced when he noticed holes in his two shirts and a tear in his green jacket. He could always wear his hoodie, which was looking pretty tired too, but it was the least of his concerns at the moment.

He lied face down on the bed, towel spread out under his hips, his arm curled around the pillow that was pressed against his cheek. He slid his hand between his legs. He listened to the sounds coming from the next room. Water. Dripping down his brother's body. He would lick ever last drop, then cradle Dean's face and kiss him like no one had ever dared to. Dean would kiss him right back. He could bite Sam's lips, slam him against the tiles, Sam didn't care. Dean wanted him and that's all that mattered.

Sam squirmed on the rumpled sheets. His fist moved up and down his cock at a rhythm he couldn't control. The swelling pressure building inside him was rising fast. He knew he wouldn't last long, so he fast forwarded to the good stuff: Dean pressing him against the wall, one arm around his waist, the other lifting Sam's leg, opening him up wider as he shoved in and out of –. Sam bucked his hips. His fingers clawed into the soft fabric and he buried his face into Dean's pillow, muffling his moans as jets of come covered his fingers.

The water was still running when he rolled onto his back and wiped himself clean with the towel. By the time Dean came out of the bathroom, he had opened the window, made the bed, dressed himself and was busy putting his dirty clothes aside. He only dared a glance at Dean when he was sure his brother was fully clothed. Dean gave him an enigmatic look and pointed to the door with his head.

They went downstairs looking for Bobby. He welcomed them in his office with a comment about useless idjits who had his house mistaken for Sleeping Beauty's Hotel, told them to get out of his hair, and smiled with paternal affection when they disappeared from sight with one look at each other and after throwing a quick "Thanks Bobby!" in chorus.

* * *

They hopped in the Impala and first hit the _Silver Fork_ buffet for an all-you-can-eat brunch at Dean's suggestion. After the first serving, Sam protested when Dean brought him a second plate, then dessert, but he caved every time under his brother's gentle insistence.

They later stopped at the _Good Deals_ store for some quick shopping. Sam was taking a brown jacket and a handful of shirts when Dean spied a colorful rack near the sleepwear aisle.

"Hey you should grab some underwear."

"I'm going to," Sam said as he walked toward the changing room.

"I'll do it."

"Dean-"

"Dude, we have less than half an hour before the movie starts."

"I know but-"

"Relax, I know your size. Go try on your clothes. Be right back."

Dean pushed the cart toward the men's underwear section before Sam could add anything. He chose two boxes of flashy boxer-briefs and added an interesting piece of dental floss to the mix. "My treat," he said as he tossed the undies into the cart with the new socks, shampoo bottle, toothpaste, 3-pack of v-neck t-shirts, and shaving cream, then raced to the checkout to pay for everything and stuffed his surprises at the bottom of the bag before going back to see his brother.

He pushed the curtain of the changing room and looked inside.

"Dean!"

"The blue one looks good on you. Come out and model the others for me. I'm bored. I'll help you choose."

Dean was already out when Sam directed his glare at him. He shook his head and unbuttoned his shirt. He could choose his shirts like a big boy, thank you very much, and he wasn't modeling anything for Dean ―outside of the privacy of their bedroom, that was. He just wanted to make sure the sleeves were long enough and that the fabric was not tight around the back and shoulders. After he had tried all the shirts, he hung the ones that fitted well over the door.

"You're no fun," Dean declared on the other side as he took them away.

"You'll see me in them soon enough, Dean," Sam said as he opened the door, the brown jacket slung over his arm.

Dean threw the jacket in the cart and hid his grin as he moved toward the check out a second time. He would see the shirts alright. And if he was lucky, he would even get to see Sam in the 'clothes' he had picked out especially for him.

* * *

"Crap!" Dean swore when he felt something oily on his fingers. Damn flimsy take-out boxes.

"Shh," Sam whispered as they entered the kitchen. "Bobby must be asleep."

Sam used his elbow to turn on the light, as he was carrying plastic bags in both hands. Dean placed the piece of lasagna they had brought for their host in the fridge, washed his hands and followed his brother upstairs. It was late, the house was quiet, and they tip toed up the stairs like teenagers sneaking home past curfew, and locked themselves in their room.

They shed a few layers and slipped under the covers facing each other. Dean reached out and touched Sam's arm.

"You've gotten affectionate in your old age, Dean," Sam said, gently poking fun at his brother.

Dean huffed and circled Sam's wrist with his palm. "So maybe I missed you a little," he replied as he shrugged, "sue me."

Sam smiled, his eyes meeting Dean's, when he said, "It's okay, I don't hate it."

They looked at each other in silence then Dean slid his hand around Sam's waist. When he pressed the tip of his fingers into Sam's back, Sam responded right away, moving closer until he was nestled against Dean.

"Nice day," he said after a while, punctuating the sentence by a yawn.

Dean nodded. No question. He never thought he would ride the Impala with his copilot again. That alone made the day worth it. Catching a movie, playing darts, and having a beer together like old times? Whipped cream on the pie. He hadn't felt that much enjoyment doing simple things in a long time.

He tightened his arm around Sam. He would get over it eventually. This need to watch Sam, to make sure that he was really there, and wouldn't just disappear again, leaving Dean's life a burning heap of ruins. In the mean time, it would be his little secret. He wasn't hurting anyone, and after spending a year and a half beating himself up for all the words and gestures he had held back, out of some misplaced pride, he wasn't about to deprive himself, or the both of them, of anything that felt so right.

* * *

When they woke up the next day, Dean let Sam take his shower first and promptly switched places with him when he came out. He was safely inside the bath tub when Sam unpacked his new clothes. He still heard the irritated, "Oh come on, Dean!" that resounded through the wall when Sam found what was hiding at the bottom of the one of the shopping bags.

Sam greeted Dean with scowl when he walked back into the bedroom. Dean bit his lips to keep from laughing and ignored his brother while he was getting ready. When he was dressed and ready to go, he threw Sam a little glance and said, "Hey, Grumpy! When you're done pouting, come join me downstairs, I'm making breakfast. "

Sam rolled his eyes. He lifted the bag of dirty clothes he had sorted the day before and went to the laundry room to start a load. A mouthwatering smell welcomed him when he got near the kitchen. Dean was standing in front of the oven, his back turned to the entrance.

"Sit down," he said.

Sam pulled a chair and sat down in front of an empty plate, not asking how Dean knew he was there when he made as little noise as a shadow. They seemed to have developed a sixth sense about each other since they were kids.

"Ready," Dean said as he turned off the burner. He picked up the pan and slid a smoking, fluffy omelet onto Sam's plate. He waited, as Sam cut off a piece, blew on it and took a first bite.

"Mmh." Sam's face brightened. "This is good."

"I'm a man of many talents."

Sam smiled and took another bite. He was aware of that. He had seen Dean make breakfast for Ben countless times, and it had stung, a little, well, a lot, but there was no point in dwelling on unpleasant memories anymore. Everything was exactly as it should be. He was the one Dean made breakfast for in the morning, now. The one he held in his arms at night.

He looked up when Dean placed a steaming cup of coffee next to him. He was wearing shamrock-print 'rub for good luck' boxer-briefs because he was out of clean underwear. He should want to strangle his brother for that, but he couldn't stop grinning. He had forgotten how nice it was to have someone take care of you. He looked at Dean as he was buttered a couple of toasts and took another bite. Yes. Everything was exactly as he should be, and he would take care of Dean too, in every way, and better than anyone else ever could.

_**Chapter VII: Good Night Kisses**__** - **__"Afraid I won't be there to kiss you goodnight?"_


	11. Chapter VII Good Night Kisses P1 RMTS

**CHAPTER VII: GOOD NIGHT KISSES**

**PART I- ROCK ME TO SLEEP**

"Willis, FBI."

"Still manning 1800 hunters?"

"I understand why Bobby's so glad to have us around."

They had been at Bobby's for a little over a week, and they were helping him run "hunter central", as they now called his home base. Their job consisted in doing research, looking for various formulas for spell works, running errands, answering phones, impersonating government agents, and helping other hunters by figuring out how to kill all kinds of obscure creatures.

"I've been here five hours," Sam explained. "Between the police line, the FBI, the Health Department, and all the guys calling, the phones never stop ringing. I forget what name I'm supposed to answer with half the time. I haven't had a moment to eat and I'm sitting _in_ the kitchen."

"Hey! You're taking a break, and you're eating," Dean ordered. "I'd take you to the buffet when I get back, but it's a waste of money."

"Trust me, Dean, you eat enough for two."

"If I didn't fill up your plates, you would never get your daily dose of hunter Wheaties."

"Yeah, about that, you can stop anytime. Forgot how bossy you are."

"Please, you love it. You get to sit like a princess while I go fetch your food."

"Whatever. If I never see a buffet again, it'll be too soon."

"Why you always gotta kill my joy?"

Sam cracked a smile. "What about you?"

"I got almost everything on the list. I'm just missing the rattlesnake root."

"Is that Dean?" Sam looked over his shoulder and saw Bobby walking by, wearing an old kimono and worn out slippers that might have been blue in a previous incarnation. The old man has been enjoying a well deserved vacation since the Winchesters had taken over the 'business'.

"Yeah," Sam answered.

"Tell him Rufus just called me on my cell. A body."

"Dean, Rufus has-"

"Man, another body? What is it this time?"

"I don't know." Sam shrugged since as Bobby had already left.

"Guess I'll be home late again."

Sam sighed. Dean insisted on doing all the field work. He had worked the phone lines for two days, until Bobby mentioned that Rufus could use some help with a demon problem. Suddenly, he had no more patience for all the idiots who kept calling with the stupidest questions they could come up with, plus he hated sitting around doing research all day, and Sam could paper chase like nobody's business all by himself anyway, right?

Sam had seen right through his brother as always. He knew Dean thought he wasn't ready to get shredded by monsters just yet; face acrimonious demons that, no doubt, thought the tale of his torment with Lucifer was the most entertaining piece featured in the latest _Demon_ _Quarterly_, or stumble into any situation that would trigger traumatic memories and twist the knife in wounds that were still fresh.

In other times, Sam would have been irritated to be treated like he was made of glass, when he was perfectly able to take care of himself and quite competent at his job. But it was before he had spent more time being tortured in Hell than he had actually been alive. It had given him a different appreciation of that valuable, complicated thing that was love, and the strange and unusual ways in which it manifested itself. There were worse things than having a brother with an overprotective streak, and besides, Dean would get over this mother hen phase soon and things would go straight back to normal.

"I'll see you tonight then," he replied. "And Dean? Try not to get arrested again. Sheriff Mills is getting tired of bailing us out."

"It's not my fault that meddling old Mrs. McKee, called the cops when she saw me breaking into the library after hours!"

"Just be careful."

"Aw, what, Sammy? Afraid I won't be there to kiss you goodnight?"

A slow smile slid across Sam's lips. Since they started working, the night was their time to be alone; no pesky phone calls, no errands to run, no Bobby shuffling in and out of rooms looking bored, and no Rufus and his collection of bodies falling out of every crack, crevice, and hole. Just the two of them, meeting on secret playground to end the day the way they had started it, resting in each other's arms. Sam wouldn't mind adding a kiss to their nightly ritual.

There was a silence, and when he answered, his tone was slightly regretful and teasing when he said, "Like you ever do that." Before Dean could react, he added softly, "Gotta go. I have another call."

He wasn't exactly lying. The Federal Marshall line started ringing as he was hanging up. He promised himself that he would fix himself a plate after the call, otherwise he was in for a lecture when Dean called back to check up on him. Sam's smile widened in anticipation; he couldn't wait for tonight. The strident noise brought him back to reality. He lifted the phone. Until then, he had work to do.

* * *

Dean rolled his aching shoulder and pushed the front door close. He heard noise coming from the library and Sam's voice welcoming him in before he had even reached the room. _Home, sweet home_…

"Hey, Sammy," he greeted when he saw his brother sitting on the couch.

"Hey."

"Man it's good to be home." Dean tossed his car keys on top of a bookshelf. "What are you doing?"

Sam turned the TV off. "Waiting for you. Hungry?"

"Yeah."

"I'll heat up some leftovers for you."

Dean followed his brother into the kitchen. He took a beer from the fridge, threw his jacket on the table, and sagged onto the chair. He was dog tired, his clothes smelled like smoke, and his shoulder hurt like a bitch, but none of it mattered any more when he saw Sam walk toward him with a hot bowl of chili topped with shredded cheese and a bag of tortilla chips.

They smiled at each other as Sam sat down next to Dean, so close that their knees were touching. "I thought you were hungry," he reminded after a while.

Dean nodded, glancing down at his plate. He was. He had just forgotten about it for a second while he wondered how Sam would react if he slid the back of his knuckles down his cheek… ever so gently.

"Eat with me?" he offered, dipping a chip in the spicy stew and crunched into it with gusto.

Sam declined, a fond expression on his face. "I ate an hour ago."

"Yeah, I know, it's late."

"How's Rufus?"

"Better than ever, now that his personal gravedigger is on call."

"I hear you." The elders had been living on easy streets since the younger, more dynamic duo had moved in. "Bobby spent the morning in pajama shorts, and-"

"Dude! I'm eating."

"Like this is going to stop you. He left in the afternoon, supposedly to play cards with Mr. Bennett, but when he came back... I think he's getting pedicures."

"Can we please stop talking about Bobby's legs and feet?"

Sam chuckled when Dean put down his beer just as he was about to drink from it. "Maybe we should ask him where he gets them?"

"Before I hit you."

Sam's lips quivered as he struggled to contain his laughter. "So what was it?" he asked, agreeing to move on.

"Erqigdlit."

Even if Dean had replied with a full mouth, Sam was able to make out the name. Their father had hunted one once, after it had torn a team of mountaineers to shreds.

"In somebody's house?" he asked, dumbfounded. "I thought they never left the mountains."

"That's what Dad always said. According to Rufus, monsters have been all over the place lately."

"But how? They're not shapeshifters. They don't exactly blend in."

"I'm sure they hide during the day. Well this one did. We don't think they are others in town." Dean took a sip of beer. "Sucker was hard to kill. The lore says silver should do it. Apparently, it just put it to sleep for a while. Rufus buried it yesterday. Then found the grave open this afternoon and that's when he called. We tracked the thing down all the way to this girl's house."

Dean exhaled hard and shook his head. He had seen a lot of things in his time, but the red fur-covered part human part canine creature, easily made the top three of his 'do-not-want-to-see-ever-again' list. Seven and a half feet of pure fugly. He was fifteen when he had first encountered one. He had caught glimpses of the human-like torso and arms, tail, sharp claws, and pointed ears before John had pushed him out the way and ordered him to hide behind a rock with his finger on the trigger while he took care of it. This time, he had faced the bloodthirsty monster himself, and held his own, even coming out on top after getting tossed around a few times. He and Rufus had subdued the beast with a barrage of silver bullets, then Dean had dragged it outside to burn it to a crisp.

"She's probably getting nightmares for a whole year. The poor girl was hysterical. She threw herself in my arms, screaming her head off."

Sam's lips thinned into a hard line. "Really."

"I did my best to calm her down. I tried to channel my inner Dr. Phil, and Rufus checked the house and backyard twice and fixed her a drink her before she finally let go of me. You would have given her the puppy dog thing and it would have probably been over in five minutes."

Dean looked up from his plate. "What?" he asked, surprised by the grim expression on Sam's face.

"When did you get there? The girl's house."

"Nine-ish."

Sam nodded slowly and checked his watch. It was one in the morning. His nostrils flared imperceptibly when he noted, anger contained in his too soft tone, "Wow. Took you guys a long time."

"Told you, I had to baby sit. She was alone there."

"What about Rufus?"

"He was with her while I was burying the carcass. Then, when we were ready to go, actually Rufus was already in his car, she called me back and begged me to stay a while to make sure nothing was after her."

"That was nice of you."

"What can I say, I'm a professional. Helping civis is part of the job. And it wasn't so bad. She likes football, so we stayed in her living room and talked about-"

"Is she pretty?"

"Yeah. Not really your type though."

_Easy, frisky, with a deep cleavage and little subtlety. Exactly the kind of girl Dean liked to snack on when he was bored. Great._Sam got up stiffly and walked away from the table.

"You're gonna see her again?" he asked.

"She invited me to diner on Thursday. Says she makes a mean crumble berry pie."

_Yeah__, I bet she does._

Sam gripped the counter, fire burning behind his eyelids. He could already see it. Some beautiful girl ―of course she had to be―, hanging off his brother's neck, all wet, batting eyelashes, trembling lips, and "oh, handsome stranger, you are my hero!", trying to keep him around, and manifestly not so traumatized that she couldn't arrange for a date the same week. He wouldn't have to worry about any of it, had he worked the spell the way he meant to, before he had started regrowing a conscience.

"Sammy? You listening?"

He could feel it bubbling under the surface. The anger that made him explode from within and demolished everything around him. He needed to calm down before he lost it. He leaned over, one elbow resting on the counter and one hand over his chest, taking deep breaths, trying to gather the parts of him that were trying to get away.

"Sam?"

Dean's worried voice reached him through the fog. God, how was he going to explain this? He was breathing hard and fast, struggling to get himself under control. He knew what happened when he panicked, and he couldn't let Dean see that. The usual method wasn't working, and he no longer had the option to do this quietly. He let out a groan and shoved the eruption down so violently that he collapsed.

"Sam!" Dean rushed to his brother's side. "Sam?" He leaned over his brother's body, one hand placed over Sam's chest while the other pushed the too long hair out of Sam's face to touch his forehead. He slid his palm down the burning skin to feel the pulse in Sam's neck. It was strong, like his heartbeat. He lifted his brother up and pleaded, "Sammy, look at me."

Sam didn't do it. Bobby's tests might not have revealed anything, because whatever he had become had no reaction to salt, holy water, silver, iron, or the word 'Christo', but in moments like this, he was afraid his eyes might reveal something. Once, in his life, they had turned ink black and he hadn't even realized it. It didn't bother him much when he was tormenting Lisa, his goal was to scare her, but he couldn't bear his brother looking at him the way she had.

He felt strong arms close around him and hold on to him as he was praying the ground would open up and swallow him. He dropped against his brother's chest, his head throbbing in pain, wanting to forget all the problems he seemed powerless to solve.

"It's okay, Sammy, I got you. Just, open your eyes, please."

Sam finally complied with fear gripping his heart. He was washed with relief when he saw his brother smile.

"What just happened?" Dean asked.

Sam looked away.

"Talk to me."

"Just… I just need a moment."

Sam's throat tightened. What was he supposed to say? That his powers were back, stronger than ever? That he had become something even demons were afraid of? That these days, when he got pissed, really pissed, scared…jealous, or threatened, in _any_ way, he turned into some kind of nuclear device, and he didn't always know where to find the off switch?

He almost felt like crying. Good thing he no longer did that; it would spare him further humiliation for the day. Things had been going smoothly up until now. He hadn't felt those sudden, painful bursts of power, since he had reunited with his brother, and he felt discouraged that it took so little to throw him off balance again.

He was fed up. He wasn't asking for too much, was he? Just a place where he could feel safe again. Something he wouldn't have to fight to keep, every single day. He was so tired of fighting; that's all he had done in Hell, fight the pain, fight for his sanity, fight to hold on to the shreds of his humanity. Even when he had come back, he had to fight again. He was still fighting this curse that was trying to take over his life, and after being crushed under Lucifer's cloven hoof for over a hundred years, his tolerance for things that hurt was exhausted.

He let out a tired sigh. Dean squeezed him a little closer, rocking slightly and giving him a moment's peace before trying again.

"Flashback?"

Sam jumped on the all-too-convenient explanation. "Yeah. Sometimes a memory hits me out of nowhere. Not just the memory, but the physical sensation too, and it's just…too much, and I can't…"

"It's okay." Dean spared Sam from saying more since he obviously wasn't ready. "Let's make you a drink."

"I just want to go upstairs."

Dean helped his brother up. He slipped his good arm around Sam's and walked him to their room. He didn't care that he was still hungry. At this point, his one thought was to get into bed, and he stripped down to his t-shirt and underwear and dropped onto the mattress like a sack of potatoes while Sam was in the bathroom.

His eyes closed, he extended his arm toward his brother when he sensed him in the room. He felt Sam crawl next to him and rest his head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around him and recalled, "When you were little, like really small, sometimes I would place you against my chest. You used to love it. I think you were listening to my heart or something. Worked like magic."

"I'm sure it did. You were probably the one who always knew what to do with me."

"Damn straight. I had a bunch of tricks, and they were all foolproof," Dean said proudly. And as the leading expert on all things Sammy, he had no problem telling the few baby sitters they had how to do their jobs. How they were supposed to hold Sam, what irritated him, what made him laugh, and what to do when he scrunched his face like a dried prune. "You weren't too much trouble, but when you got a little cranky, the fastest way to calm you down was to pick you up and lay you on top of me. Of course now, you'd only crush me to death."

"Shut up."

Dean opened his eyes long enough to see a smile lighten Sam's features. He started rubbing his brother's back, tracing soothing circles on his skin. He felt the tense muscles gradually loosen under his touch, then Sam stretching out against him with a moan before making himself more comfortable, throwing his arm and his leg across Dean's body. Dean pressed a light kiss on his brother's forehead.

"Dean?"

"You asked for it, now shut up, and relax."

Sam hid his smile and avoided further comment. He knew if he was an ass about Dean's chick flick moment, his brother would make sure it didn't happen again.

"How you feeling?" Dean asked.

"Better."

Dean wished Sam's answer was enough to reassure him. It wasn't. _What is it that you're not able to tell me? _he wondered. _What the hell happened downstairs? Does it happen often? Is it something I did? Something I said? _He had a million questions, but he knew from experience that pushing for answers would do more harm than good. He wasn't too eager to delve into the gory details, of what had happened to him after he had come back from Hell himself. Sam would get there on his own time. Still, knowing it didn't help ease his worries. There was this weight crushing his little brother's soul, and he desperately wanted to help. _I wish I could take this pain away from you… _"Good night, Sammy."

Sam cleared his throat. Dean raised his eyes to the ceiling and dropped another kiss on his forehead.

"High maintenance bitch."

"Lower," Sam demanded, not minding the taunt. He'd show Dean high maintenance. "I get stiff from working at the computer all day."

Dean scoffed. "You should be giving _me_ back rubs. I'm the one out there digging."

Sam twisted his body to guide his brother's arm lower down his back. "A little to the right," he added, "and this would be a lot more relaxing if you didn't speak."

Dean shook his head. "You're loving this, aren't you?"

"Yes. Yes, I am."

Dean chuckled, and then he lowered his hand, moving it slightly to the right. _Anything for you, Sammy._

_Part II – The Magic Fingers_


	12. Chapter VII Good Night Kisses P2 TMF

**PART II – THE MAGIC FINGERS **

**Summary:** Sam demands something of Dean. Rufus drops by. Dean has a visitor.

Sam slid his palm over the naked skin and pressed himself against the warm body lying next to him.

"Mm…" He opened his eyes and curled himself around his brother, spooning him from behind, his hand resting low on his stomach. He felt Dean give a slight shiver in his sleep when he brushed his mouth against the back of his neck, and then he pulled away when he caught the smell of menthol in the air.

Now, well awake, he realized that Dean had taken off his t-shirt in the middle of night, and he noticed a nasty bruise on his brother's shoulder. He bent close to examine it and gently prodded at the purple, swollen skin.

He felt guilty for being too wrapped up in his own issues to see that Dean had gotten hurt during the hunt. He reached over the sleeping form to grab the jar of ointment that was left open on the bedside table next to a thawed icepack. Dean groaned and flinched as soon as he started rubbing the salve over the tender skin.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Sam chided. "We should have taken care of this yesterday!"

"Good morning to you too, Sunshine. We had more pressing issues. And I did take care of it, after you fell asleep." Dean tried to sit upright.

"Stay still and let me do this," Sam ordered.

Dean lay back down. "Okay, nurse Betty."

He winced as his shoulder wrenched with pain in the beginning, but Sam was careful, he worked slowly, using gentle pressure, and soon Dean let himself go enough to enjoy the sensation. He was starting to feel really good, wishing it would never stop and he was dangerously close to drifting into sleep again when he heard Sam say, "We'll do it again after you've taken a shower. It should help."

He turned his head to look at Sam. "Thanks." He rolled his shoulder, moving it with more ease. "It does help… What?" he asked when he caught Sam studying his upper arm.

Sam slowly swept his fingertips over the slick skin. Dean jerked when the nails gently dragged over his skin.

"I should use your services more often," he said to break the tension. "No more swelling, hardly any pain, you really do have the magic fingers."

Sam pressed his hand on top of Dean's upper arm, fingers splayed, too absorbed by his discovery to pay attention to what Dean was saying.

"The handprint," he whispered.

"It's gone. Cas gave me a little nip and tuck after you-know-who rearranged my face."

Sam looked at his hand, seeing again the blood that covered it then.

"_Run, Dean." _

He remembered. The agony. Watching his brother being pummeled by his own hands.

"_Please, stop."_

How utterly powerless he was to stop it. The fear that he was killing Dean, just as he was realizing he had been in love with him the whole time. And Lucifer, reveling in their suffering, mocking them, punching, harder every time.

"_Look at him. Not so pretty anymore, is he? I gotta hand it to you. I don't know what you're doing to him, but... him coming all the way here, to face me, just so he could be with his darling little Sammy one last time? Even Michael didn't love me enough to defy God for me. Don't you wish you had fucked him when you had the chance? How does it feel, Sam, to know that the last thing the brother you love so much is ever going to see, is you, with your foot on his neck? _"

"Sam?"

Sam shook himself and focused his gaze on his brother.

"Where were you just then?"

"I was screaming. Screaming at you to run. I couldn't control him. I didn't want to watch you die. I begged him, begged him to stop… I prayed you'd run away, but you didn't even try."

"I wasn't leaving you, Sammy."

"Then I saw the tiny little green toy soldier."

"_That's_ how it happened?"

"Yeah. You were skeptical about the Power of Love. I guess we showed you." Sam took a long, lingering look at his brother and swiped his thumb over his skin. "That's also what I clung to downstairs, when I was wondering if I would ever see you again.

"Well, you're here now. We're both here, and I'm not going anywhere."

Sam gave a little smile and rubbed his palm where the hand-shaped scar used to be.

"You seem happy it's gone," Dean noticed.

"It represented a lot of things."

"Did it bother you?"

"…maybe a little. It reminded me of my failure to save you. I should have just been grateful that someone else could, and I was, but a part of me always wished…"

Dean rolled over. "It wasn't your fault."

Sam leaned against his brother's chest, his head resting on the back of his hands. He had only seen Dean with a t-shirt on, even fresh out of the shower, and he was noticing something else.

"The tattoo?"

"Also gone. The sigils too, I think. When Cas cleans house, he doesn't leave any dust behind."

With his right hand, Sam silently drew a circle and a pentagram over the empty space on the left side of Dean's chest. The mark was more than an anti-possession charm. It was a symbol of their lives intertwined and the mission they shared. It was as uniquely theirs as their last name; matching seals worn under their clothes, close to their hearts. He didn't like seeing Dean without his.

"Why didn't get you get another?"

"I couldn't," Dean explained. "Drive to some shop, sit in that chair, without you. Brought back too many memories."

"I'm here now, and I'll go with you. I want you to get it done."

"All right. We'll find a day, and we'll go together."

"Good."

Sam's eyes followed the movement of his finger as he slowly drew the flames that surrounded the invisible circle, smirking when his proprietary touch sent another shiver through Dean's body. It was two down; Lisa and Ben were out of the picture, and now Castiel had been scrubbed off of Dean, without Sam having to lift a finger.

He had gotten over the fact that the angel had succeeded where he had failed. He would be forever grateful to Cas for giving him his brother back. He just didn't want to see his hand on Dean when they made love.

Dean narrowed his eyes, slightly troubled. There was something unusual and unsettling about the way Sam was acting. Something was different, like this fleeting aura of danger that seemed to surround him from time to time. He had gotten a glimpse of it before Sam collapsed in the kitchen, and he had seen it again for a split second when a cold smile had stretched Sam's lips after he had demanded Dean replace the tattoo.

Castiel's words resonated in Dean's ears, "_Consuming that much blood will change your brother forever." _He shoved them aside immediately. Sammy wasn't evil. There was no trace of evil in those touches, in the way he held Dean in his arms, or kissed his neck when he thought he was sleeping. You couldn't blame a guy who had gone through what Sam had gone through for holding on tightly to the only family he had left.

No. Sam was still himself, and Cas had to be talking the trauma anyone would sustain after such an ordeal. Sam was just trying to regain his bearings and he was clutching to Dean as a means to ground himself. He was trying to hold things together while he struggled to heal deep wounds he didn't want to show Dean, maybe for fear of being looked at like he was some kind of freak again. But Dean only wanted to protect him this time, take care of him, and help him fight each and every one of his demons. He placed his hand over Sam's, as much to comfort him as to stop him, before he found himself pinned to the bed, spread eagle, wrestling his over-stimulated big brother off of him.

"Sam? You know I'm here for you, right?"

"Dean, if it's about yesterday, I'm fine."

"If you wanna talk, about anything…"

A flicker of fear crossed Sam's eyes. He pulled away and sat with his back turned to Dean.

Dean didn't let Sam go too far. He sat next to him, put his arm around his waist, and pressed his cheek on his shoulder. "I'm here, little brother. Whatever you need. Whatever you think you can't ask me, or tell me, I'm ready."

Sam grabbed Dean's wrist, squeezing a little too hard, like he couldn't help himself.

"You mean that?" he asked with a small voice.

"Of course."

_I'm __broken, Dean. I'm never going to be the same. I'm scared you'll look at me different when you find out, cause it's only a matter of time. When you start looking at me like that, it's only a matter of time. You always see through my lies. Unless… _

"Bobbeh!"

The boys looked at each other when they heard the familiar voice coming from the first floor. Their guest's well timed and noisy entrance dissipated the anguish that was starting to permeate the room.

"Bobbeh! Bobbeh Singer, I better not find you in your peignoir again."

"It's a kimono! And get the hell out of my house, Rufus!"

"Well, yes, I'll stay, since you ask so nicely. Where's the coffee?"

"They're at it again," Dean commented with amusement.

Rufus popped in once in a while unannounced, and he was always welcomed with insults and threats, but the boys knew better than to believe a word of what was coming out of Bobby's mouth where he was concerned. Insulting each other was simply the crotchety bastards' way to related to one another, and the spectacle never failed to entertain.

"I guess Rufus's here for breakfast," Sam noted.

"I swear I'm letting him starve if he brings another body."

"It only happened once, and he left it in his truck."

Sam laughed, and for a moment, he looked like the weight of the world was off his shoulders. Dean looked at him and thought he had never wanted to kiss him as badly as he did right that second. He actually might do it if stayed there staring at him. He rolled out of bed and moved his arm when he noticed he hadn't felt the slightest twinge of pain.

"Man, this is incredible. I'm gonna save a bundle on Thai massages."

"Anything to keep you out of those shady parlors."

"Do you give hands of glory?"

"Ew, no." Sam shuddered, thinking about a dried, pickled, amputated hand, but the disgust on his face was replaced with a wide grin when Dean winked at him. _I'll give you a happy ending if you want though,_ he thought, and he got up to join his brother in the bathroom.

They took their shower one after the other, got dressed, and as they were leaving the room Dean stopped Sam by taking his hand. He didn't need to say the words, _You know everything's gonna be okay, right? _Sam gave his hand a brief squeeze. _I know._

"Come on, let's go see the kids before they try to kill each other," Dean said.

They went to the kitchen and, unsurprisingly, found Bobby and Rufus bickering about which one made the best coffee. Dean couldn't resist adding a little fuel to the fire.

"We thought you gentlemen might want company, but I see you guys are having a moment. Maybe me and Sam should come back later."

"Oh don't be cute," Bobby grumbled.

"Winchester and Winchester!"

"Hey, Rufus!" the boys greeted merrily.

"I was in your neck of the woods, thought I'd stop by."

"You brought something?" Dean checked, one eyebrow raised suspiciously.

"My good looks and sunny disposition not enough for you?" Rufus joked.

"Quite the contrary. That's exactly what we need to cheer up Bobby, here."

"Shut up, idjit," mumbled the person concerned.

Dean opened the fridge to grab the carton of eggs, some milk, the pack of sliced bread, butter, and cheese. Sam cleared the dishes from Dean's unfinished supper and started to gather mugs, plates, and mismatched knives, forks, and spoons to set the table.

"You okay?" Dean mouthed to Sam while breaking the eggs into an empty bowl.

"Yeah," Sam replied in the same fashion.

They exchanged a warm smile and each got to work, listening in on Bobby and Rufus' conversation about which one had performed the most mind-blowing stunt rescues during their illustrious career, before that bitch arthritis came out of _nowhere_ to cramp their style.

* * *

"What are you watching?"

"I'm working."

"During your breaks."

"_Total_ _Eclipse_."

"You and your artsy movies."

"It's not artsy. It's just about two French poets."

"French, plus poets, equal artsy. So you still have that crush on DiCaprio."

"I never…"

"Just kidding, Sammy, I know you've always been all about Brad."

"Keep it up, Dean, and I'm gonna hang up."

"Boy, stop romancing the ladies for a minute. Always on that damn phone!" Rufus yelled from the store entrance.

"It's Sam!" Dean justified.

"Well, you can sing him that lullaby, tonight!"

"Bossman on my tail, better shag ass," Dean said to his brother, quickly grabbing a bag of M&Ms and digging in his pocket for money. He had left with Rufus after breakfast to investigate a haunting in the neighboring city of Mitchell. Their first meeting might have been tense, but the two of them now got along like two peas in a pod, so much that Rufus let Dean drink his good Scotch, which was a great honor, if you believed Bobby.

"See you when you get back," Sam replied, "later rather than sooner. You're a pain in the ass today."

"Eh, Sammy?" Dean asked as he walked through the gas station.

"What?"

"What are you wearing?"

"What!"

"I mean, which one are you wearing? Don't worry, Rufus can't hear me from the truck."

Sam shifted on his chair, his voice dropping low when he answered, "I'm not telling you."

"Oh, come on, give me _something_. Sponge Bob? The one with the bow tie? Dangerous mission here, I could die, Sammy."

Sam cracked up. "Right. Seems like a regular haunting to me. You kicked Wolfman's ass, you can take Casper. I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Have a heart."

"I tell you what. You manage to come home in one piece, we can talk…"

"Tease…"

"Bye, Dean," Sam said with a sultry laugh.

"Hey!"

Sam hung up the phone. When Dean came home, he would show him what he was hiding under his jeans; and if Dean was good, he might even let him take them off. He moved his laptop screen upright and went back to his research, convinced nothing could spoil his good mood, and then heard a knock on the door.

* * *

"Hi!"

Sam looked at the friendly, attractive young woman standing on the front porch with a white box and a woven beach bag full of library books in her hands.

"Hi?"

"You're probably wondering who I am. My name is April. I came here to see Dean."

Sam's features darkened. Clearly, he had misjudged her. She wasn't the typical one night stand Dean picked up in bars. She was more in Cassie's league; classy, poised, and she seemed to have this nurturing quality that would inevitably remind Dean of his most recent ex. She was the type Dean could actually fall for. He opened the door wide and stepped aside to invite her in. He watched up strut by, shapely hips swinging like those of that other blond girl Dean had tried to spend his 'last night on earth with, before they went after Lucifer with the Colt.

"Sorry for the mess. Have a seat," he offered, all syrupy manners and amicable demeanor. He was going to nip this in the bud. When April left this house, he would make sure she never returned.

_Part III – A Kiss Goodnight_


	13. Chapter VII Good Night Kisses P3 AKG

**PART III - A KISS GOODNIGHT **

"How did you find the house?"

"I asked around about the car," April replied with a charming smile.

"Huh." _…__Smart__ and __resourceful __too. _Well,if she wasn't getting more delightful by the minute.

Sam moved around the desk and sat in Bobby's chair, assuming a position of superiority. "You must be one of our cases," he deduced, all business-like.

"Case?"

"Well, yes," Sam said as if it was obvious. "Every person we save is a case that Dean and I work on, and research together." He waived his hand toward the stacks of books strewn across the floor. "He didn't just happen in your house at the right time by accident. Are you the one who was attacked yesterday night?"

"Yes," she answered, her pretty smile slowly evaporating as it became clear she was but a number on a long list of customers.

"Ow..." Sam nodded and crossed his fingers, dragging out the suspense with his silence.

April took the bait. "What? Did he say something?"

Sam leaned toward her, brow furrowed with concern. "How are you holding up? Were you able to get some sleep? I know you were... pretty shaken up." He made a facial expression to imply he had been privy to a wealth of humiliating details about her post-attack meltdown. "He had to cancel our plans yesterday night, so I can tell it was pretty bad."

She lowered her eyes, and if she had been someone else, he might, _might,_ have felt some compassion for the embarrassment she was feeling. Instead, he dug deeper into the wound. "Don't worry. The victims' welfare take precedence over everything. We understand that it was a very difficult, painful experience for you, and it's also part of our job to make sure every victim gets the support they need. We can refer you to-"

"I'm fine, thank you," she interrupted, eager to put an end to all the "victim" talk. "I just brought a little something to thank him. Hope he likes brownies."

Sam hissed, then quickly closed his mouth, as if he had made a mistake of reacting at all. He took the box April was handing.

"He's not a fan of chocolate?"

Sam shrugged as if he was sorry. "Not so much," he lied. "But I'm sure he'll appreciate the sentiment," he added with patronizing enthusiasm.

April nodded and he felt a rush of satisfaction at the disappointment that twisted her pretty, glossy mouth. "I came to invite him to diner on Friday. He told me he was busy Thursday, so..."

"We already have plans for Friday."

She looked him straight in the eyes and insisted firmly, "Maybe another day, then? That's the least I can do. He did, after all, save my life."

Sam tamped down his irritation. He wasn't going to get angry. She wasn't sending him into a tailspin two days in a row. She was on his turf, she was no threat, and he had humored her long enough.

He got up, still looking her in the eyes, but this time from much, much higher, and he replied, enunciating as if he was talking to someone who had difficulty understanding the simplest concepts, "Like I said… April, that's your name, right, it is our job, and the only thanks we need, is to know that you're still alive, healthy_,_and moving on." Sam's tone became harsh on the last two words, but he immediately plastered a fake smile on his face, and added in a tone of confidence, "Besides, I might have complained a bit that he kept cancelling on me because of work. He promised to make it up to me, so as you can imagine, he's booked solid."

April got up, no longer pretending she didn't know she was being threatened and told in no uncertain terms that Dean was spoken for. She slid her hand in the pocket of her tight jeans, pulled something out, and placed it on the table.

"I brought back his bracelet. I think it dropped during the struggle."

Sam picked up the Tibetan skull bracelet. "Actually, it's mine." He slipped it onto his wrist "He wears it on the job for good luck, when I can't be with him. Thank you for bringing it back; it has a great sentimental value to us."

"I'll see myself out."

_You do that._

Sam watched the woman walk away, her posture still regal, even if she knew she had just been checkmated. He opened the box, bit into a brownie, and moaned loudly enough for her to turn around.

"They're delicious, April! I'm sure I could get him to try one, with a little persuasion."

She turned away in a flurry of long, golden hair and slammed the door without responding to his provocation. Sam dropped the brownie, practically gagging from butter and sugar overload. He detached his cold gaze from the door and looked at the six chocolate squares. He could already see his brother licking his fingers and mewling in ecstasy. He looked at the trash cabinet. Of course he would have to dispose of them somewhere else.

"Sam?"

Sam pulled the small envelope out of the box and discretely pressed the play button on his laptop, so he could blame any strange noise on the scene that was playing between Rimbaud and his older lover's wife.

"Yeah, Bobby?"

"I figure it's about time I got back in the swing of things. There's this old book I'd like to translate. I'm thinking it'll go a lot faster with your computer skills."

"Sure, I'll help."

"We can start when I come back. What smells good?"

"Brownies." Sam took out the one he had bitten into and handed the rest to Bobby. Seeing as he was dressed for the card game at Mr. Bennett's, it was the perfect opportunity to get rid of them. "You should take them, share with the guys."

"Don't mind if I do. You bought 'em?"

The phone rang, saving Sam from another lie. "Sorry, Bobby, gotta take this. Willis," he answered after stopping the movie.

Bobby opened the box and took a whiff of the rich, scrumptious-looking chocolate bars.

"Keep up the good work, son!" he said as he was leaving, speaking as much about the treats as he was about Sam's impeccable work ethic.

Sam opened the envelope as soon as he was done with the call. _Dear __Dean ,_it read, _I__ can __never __thank __you __enough__ for __what __you __did, __but __come __over __this __Friday __night __and __I__ will __give __it __my__ best __try. __April._

The muscle in Sam's jaw twitched. She was getting ahead of herself, but at least she wasn't ungrateful, he could give her that. One of the things his brother hated about the job, was never getting paid or thanked. If he only knew.

"Sorry, love," he apologized, "I can't let you have this either." He burned the note over a lit candle, cleaned up the mess, and took the key to the Impala. _But __I__'__ll __get __you __something__ better._

* * *

"Señor Dispatcher!"

"You're in a good mood."

"What's that thing you talked about on the phone?"

"My day went well, thank you."

Dean sat on the desk and started over. "How was your day, honey? Anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

"No." Sam opened the fridge and took out a box in a plastic bag. "Same old, same old."

Dean's eyes turned into saucers. He bit his bottom lip. Dona Green. Sweet, Dona Green. Was it Christmas?

"I know you have a crush on her," Sam said, placing the box on the desk between the computer and John's journal.

"The woman is a goddess." Dean untied the ribbons to open the box and lovingly stared at the pie. Ridiculously expensive, impossible to find outside of a handful of selected stores in each state. The creations of TV chef Dona Green were worth every penny, and he hadn't had the privilege of tasting one in years. "When did you have time to go there?" he asked.

"I took an hour off... Maybe two."

Dean went looking for a knife.

"Aren't you gonna eat first?"

"There's more than enough for diner."

Sam sat down, giving up debating the virtues of a balanced diet with his brother. It was pointless.

"You're coming?" Dean asked, after cutting himself a sizable portion.

"I'm working on something with Bobby. I should be done in half an hour."

"I'll let you two get back in the zone. This'll keep me warm until you come."

"Don't get crumbs everywhere."

"Why, darling? You'll kick me out of bed?" Dean watched Sam get slightly flustered as he took a slow, loving mouthful of pie, then he sucked the spoon clean while moaning helplessly. Sam's reaction to his enthusiastic display of pleasure was adorable, kind of like himself, driving back and forth two hours just to get Dean one of his favorite things in the world. "Thank you, Sammy." He puckered his lips and made a kissing sound.

"You're welcome." Sam looked down and rubbed his palm on the back of his head.

Dean was about to turn around when he noticed something. "Is that my bracelet?"

In less than three seconds, Sam's expression went from bashful to guilty, then neutral. "Yeah, someone dropped it off."

"And?"

"And what?" Sam shrugged, looking defensive.

"You met her?"

"Mm."

So Sam didn't like April, Dean gathered. It wasn't really an issue, since he had no intention of seeing her again. He just wondered why he had omitted to mention her visit, and it brought into focus questions he had pushed into a corner to avoid pressuring Sam. It made him doubt that Sam's fainting spell was really a random occurrence, like his brother seemed to imply, or that it was even triggered by the talk about monsters like he feared. Maybe some of it had to do with April. Not so much herself, because Sam didn't know her at the time, but what she represented: time and attention taken away from him by a stranger, and a woman who showed interest in a guy he might think was a prime candidate for a rebound fling. If there was any truth to his new theory, Dean had obviously missed a few clues, and he needed to start paying closer attention to what was going on with his brother.

He didn't realize he was fixing Sam with a deep frown until he saw his brother's face crumbled. He gave an unconvincing smile and left, saluting Bobby who was coming in from the backdoor on his way to the bedroom.

In the library, Sam dropped his head in his hands. Yet another mishap he was going to have to explain to an increasingly suspicious Dean. At the rate things were going, he would have no choice but to use the spell on his brother, no matter how rotten it made him feel.

* * *

"Kid? You sure you're all right?"

"Yeah. Long day. See you tomorrow, Bobby."

Sam walked into the room with a deep sigh and heavy steps. He found his brother comfortably tucked in bed and disappeared into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He stayed in there a little longer than he needed, thinking about ways to justify the whole 'that woman whose life you saved dropped by to see you, but I decided you didn't need to know, no particular reason'.

As soon as he was in the bedroom, Dean rolled on his back and opened his arm. The gesture of acceptance should have quieted his fears, but his brother's silence worried him, nonetheless. The voice of his old enemy used the crack that was forming in his psyche to worm its way back into his head.

"_Still clinging to the memory of your brother braving me on that field to sweet talk you? That was then. Oh, he loved the snot out of you then, even I can admit that. After all, he was programmed to look after you; but he was also brainwashed to hate freaks, like you. Surely, you noticed the way he looks at you when you revert to your true nature. He never really accepted who you are, and now that he's living this new life without you, he's relieved he doesn't have to deal with your baggage anymore; Your powers, your lust and weakness for my children, the demon blood pumping through your veins..." _

They say the Devil is a liar, but try listening to him for a century without faltering in that conviction. He had become everything they hunted and, lately, Dean had this look in his eyes, like he could see the stain on Sam's soul. Sam could picture his brother locking him in the panic room again, or worse, running back to Lisa. He had the means to ensure neither scenario ever occurred, yet he was terrified.

_Do__you__love__me?_ The question burned his lips, but he knew the only response he would get was Dean laughing in his face.

Dean looped his arm around Sam's shoulders. He could tell his brother was worried, that he needed something. He just wasn't sure what.

"Do you love me?" The words escaped Sam's mouth before he could do anything about it.

"No more emo movies about love affairs gone wrong for you."

Sam gave a sad little nod and didn't say another word.

As the silence dragged on, Dean started to feel like the most hopeless idiot that ever lived. It was now that he needed to address Sam's concerns, whichever they were, not three weeks from now, when it was almost too late. So far, he guessed Sam might have had a problem with Aprils-in-peril. He could start there.

"You think I miss Lisa so much that I'm gonna take up with the first chick I see? Thought you knew me better than that."

Sam was speechless. He was expecting a thorough grilling about what had transpired with April. A warning to stay out of his brother's business, a threat to punch his nose if he c-blocked Dean again. Anything, but this.

"Don't you know I'd take you over anyone, anything? You think I miss mowing the lawn and having birthday parties with the neighbors? You don't think a day went by where I wasn't tempted to sell my soul again, just to have you back, even only for a few days."

Sam drew a pained breath and closed his eyes, overwhelmed by love and relief. "I think, these days, I just worry about things I didn't use to."

"Sammy, we leave bits of ourselves in the pit; then we have to figure out how to go on and walk around with a meat suit full of bullet holes. It's hard enough; I don't want you angsting about people and things that don't even matter on top of it."

"I just hate what I'm turning into," Sam confided. Dean didn't know everything he meant by that, but it felt good letting at least part of his secret out.

"Cut yourself some slack here, would you? It'll get easier, I promise. Until then, you don't have to pretend with me. If you're not feeling well, it's okay. If you need something, you ask for it."

"I really need you right now."

Dean shifted closer. He wrapped his arm around Sam's waist, and looked at him gravely.

"Is it because I'm spending all this time with Rufus? I swear it was only a one-time thing. It didn't mean anything, you know you're the only one. Ow!" Dean jumped away from the knee that collided with his thigh. "Was that a smile? I think it was smile."

Sam tried to keep a straight face. "It's your fault. The only reason you're spending all this time with him is because you don't want me hunting, which forces you to do all the work alone."

"I… No! …Okay, maybe."

"I'm ready to get back in there, Dean. I appreciate what you're doing, but I'm going to lose it if I stay in one more day."

"I'm that transparent, huh?"

"Yes. You are."

Dean wasn't sure he was. Not if Sam felt the need to ask the question. Obviously, he didn't know how much Dean cared about him, how he regretted the times things had gone off the rails and wished he could have done it different. He would do things right this time. Screw it.

"Yes. Yes I do."

"What?" Sam asked.

"The answer to your question."

Sam brushed a kiss against the corner of Dean's mouth and whispered, "I love you, too."

Dean felt a rush of heat when the soft lips pressed against his skin. The kiss should feel chaste, but it was anything but. There was something incredibly provocative about it. The faint suction sound made the back of his neck tingle, and it traveled all the way down to his dick. Already he felt desire tug at his belly, simply from brushing his lips on his cheek. He was almost afraid to imagine what would happened if they actually kissed. Good thing his downstairs brain wasn't.

His mouth pressed against Sam's in another, equally subtle kiss. When Sam made no attempt to move away from him, he did it again. This time, Sam returned the kiss, pulling and crumpling Dean's shirt as he dug his fingers into his lower back. With one hand, Dean cradled Sam's head to bring him closer, and he let the other one move up and down Sam's back, around his waist and down to his hip.

He ran his tongue over every inch of the sweet, wet mouth and teasingly slipped his hand in the back of Sam's sweat pants to dip his finger under the hemline of his boxer-briefs. Tomorrow, he would have to dive under the covers to check which one it was. For the time being, ―he groaned when Sam's teeth grazed his bottom lip—, he was needed elsewhere.

_**Chapter VIII: Third Time's The Charm**_


End file.
